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Oosw-a-y, J^vneo- 









V -V 



Pkeface ix 


Outbreak of the Revolution 17 


Conversations with the Duke of Orleans — Sketch of 
Marie-Antoinette — Unpopularity of the Duke of Or- 
leans with the Court — ^He visits England — The Nether- 
land Revolutionists — My Passport stopped — Colonel 
Gardiner, English Minister at Brussels — Grross insult 
offered to the British Government — ^Interview with the 
Belgian Revolutionary Leaders — Infamous Conduct of 
Capuchin Priests — My Return to Paris — ^The Festival 
of the Federation at the Ohamp-de-Maxs — Louis 
XYI. — Marie-Antoinette — ^Talleyrand — The Duke of 
Orleans daily drifting into the hands of the most 
violent Revolutionists — Conversations with the Duke — 
Marie-Antoinette visits my House and Gardens- 
Intrusted with a Commissiofli by Marie-Antoinette — 
The Ghevaliers de la Poignard — A Leader wanted for 
the Royalists 35 




Conduct of Monsieur, since Louis XVIII.— Gentleness 
of Louis XVI. — Royal Family escape to Vaxennes — 
Brought back to Paris— Their brutal treatment by the 
Mob— Position of the Duke of Orleans — His dis- 
position—He joins the Army — The Mob break into 
the Tuileries, and insult the King — Marie- Antoinette's 
last appearance in public- The 10th of August— My 
Plight to Meudon — Return to Paris — Adventures — 
Murder of the Swiss Guards — ^Extraordinary escape 
of Marquis de Chansenets 56 


The Princess Lamballe's Murder — Incidents in the Es- 
cape of the Marquis de Chansenets — My Adventures 
in aiding him — Domestic Spies — Terror during Domi- 
ciliary Visit — Interview and Conversation with the 
Duke of Orleans — The Duke procures the escape of the 
Marquis to England 81 


The Murder of Louis XVI.— The Duke of Orleans 
promises not to vote — ^Visit of the Duke of Orleans 
and the Due de Biron to me— Conversation relative to 
the death of the King — The Duke of Orleans breaks 
his solemn promise — Anecdote of an attached Servant 
of the King — General Terror— My Illness ; the Duke 
sends to me — ^Anxious to get away to England — The 
Duke unable to assist me — I upbraid him for his 



conduct in voting for the King's Death — His Defence — 
The Countess De Perigord's horror for her situation — 
Begs my aid to get away — Monsieur de Malesherbes — 
Another Domiciliary Visit^Madame de Perigord con- 
cealed in a Closet — Melancholy position of the Duke 
of Orleans — ^I am arrested 113 


Taken to the Gruard-!Koom, where I pass the Night — 
Walked between Soldiers to the Mairie to be ex- 
amined — The Duchesse de G-rammont and the Duchesse 
du Chatelet before the Mairie also — Their miserable 
Fate — ^Frightful Scenes at the Peuillants — Encounter 
the Duke of Orleans there — My examination and 
alarm — Brutality of Chabot the Capuchin — Civility of 
Vergniaud — ^Letter of Sir Godfrey Webster — I. am 
allowed to depart, but stopped by Chabot — -The Duke 
of Orleans arrested, with the Comte de Beaujolais — 
Affecting Scene between the Due de Biron and the 
Comte de Montpensier — The Duo de Biron sent to 
St. Pelagic — Madame de Perigord leaves her Children 
with me — 1 am sent to St. Pelagic — Meet Madame Du 
Barri — ^Her Violence at her Execution — ^Fatal Letter 
of Mr. Vernon — I am released 139 


My Plight, on being warned that I am to be arrested — 
Incidents of my Plights-Reach Meudon — I am pur- 
sued and sent to the Prison of the RecoUets, at Ver- 
sailles — Brutality of the Section — A Condemned 



Jew — ^Dr. Gem imprisoned in the same room with me — 
Our miserable Food — ^I procure the discharge of Dr. 
Gem— Deprived of everything, and pray for Death— 
Brutality of Gaoler— Young Samson the Executioner— 
The Queen's Death 160 


Death of the Duke of Orleans — Melancholy feelings on 
the Event — Nothiug fotmd among his papers con- 
cerning me — Orasseaii the Deputy — ^His Brutality to 
me — Imprisoned in the Queen's Stables — The Prisoners 
from Nantes — Conveyed to Paris — Insulted by the 
Way — General Hoche — Madame Beanharnais — Ma- 
dame Custine — The Marquis de Beauhamais is sent to 
the same Prison — Affecting parting between the Count 
de Custine and his Wife — The Eeign of Terror — San- 
terre — I am released 179 


The following narrative of the Life of Mrs. 
Dalrymple Elliott, during some of the most 
eventful scenes of the great French Eevolution, 
was composed at the express desire of his 
Majesty King Greorge the Third. Mr. (after- 
wards Sir David) Dundas, physician to the king, 
was also Mrs. EUiott's medical attendant ; and 
was in the hahit of relating, during his visits 
to the Eoyal Family, some of the incidents 
and anecdotes which that lady had communi- 
cated to him at various times, in the course 
of conversation. The King became so much 
interested that he desired Mr. Dundas to re- 
quest Mrs. EUiott to commit to paper the story 


of her Life in Paris, and to send it to him. 
"With this intimation she readily complied, and 
accordingly the narrative was conveyed by Mr. 
Dundas to Windsor, sheet by sheet as it was 
written by her during her residence at Twick- 
enham, after her return from France, at the 
Peace of Amiens, in 1801. 

Of her previous history Mrs. Dalrymple 
EUiott has left no record ; but the Editor has 
gleaned a few facts relative to her birth and 
earlier years from those who knew her in- 
timately during her residence in England, at 
the period when she drew up the following 
narrative, which may be interesting to the 
reader. She is represented as a lady eminently 
gifted by nature with beauty of person, and 
grace and elegance of manners ; and she was 
wont to attract the admiration of all who 
approached her, while she conciliated the 
regard and affection x»f those who ^ were more 
intimately acquainted with her. 


Grace Dalrymple, the youngest of thjree 
daugliters of Hew Dalrymple, Esq., a branch 
of, and next in succession to, the noble family 
of Stair, was born in Scotland, about 1765. 
Her father, a barrister, established his reputa- 
tion by gaining for the plaintiff the celebrated 
Douglas and Hamilton cause, which Horace 
Walpole notices as one of the most remarkable 
of that period. He was afterwards appointed 
Attorney-Greneral to the Grrenadas. He de- 
serted his wife, a woman of remaa-kable beauty, 
a daughter of an officer in the army, who re- 
turned to her father's house, which she never 
afterwards quitted, and where she gave birth to 
this her youngest daughter, Glrace Dalrymple. 
This child was afterwards sent for her education 
to a convent, in France, where she remained 
for some years, being withdrawn wheii she 
was about the age of fifteen, and brought to 
her father's house. At that time it was not 
the custonlj as in these later days, for young 
persons to mix in evening festivities ; but at 


one of the suppers given at her father's house, 
Miss Dahymple was introduced. On this oc- 
casion, Sir John Elliott was present, a man 
older than her father ; who was so struck with 
her beauty that he made her an offer of mar- 
riage, which was accepted by her with the same 
inconsiderate haste with which it was proffered. 
Such an unsuitable and ill-assorted marriage, 
as might naturally be supposed, was productive 
of nothing but unhappiness. There was such 
a total dissimilarity of tastes, as well as of age, 
that there never existed any affection between 

Grrace Dalrymple, now Mrs. Elliott, mixed 
much in general society; and being so ex- 
quisitely lovely, very soon found admirers 
amongst those more suited to her age. In 
an evil hour for her, she unhappily became 
entangled in an intrigue; and her husband, 
after some indecent treatment, resorted to a 
court of law at once to procure a divorce, and 
to punish the author of their mutual wrongs. 

PEEFACK. xiii 

The first object was easily obtained, while the 
second resulted in a verdict of 12,000^. damages. 
In the mean time her brother removed her to 
a convent in France, assigning as a reason for 
the course which had been adopted, that the 
lady was about to contract an unsuitable mar- 

Here Mrs. Elliott remained until she was 
brought over to England by Lord Cholmondeley . 
She was subsequently introduced to the Prince 
of Wales, who had been struck with the ex- 
quisite beauty of her portrait, which he had 
accidentally seen at Houghton. So celebrated 
was she for her personal charms that there are 
several portraits of her by eminent painters 
still in existence, among others, one by Cos- 
way, which embellishes this volume, another, 
by Gainsborough^, at Lord Cholmondeley's. 

The young Prince was immediately fasci- 
nated with her beauty, and a most intimate 

3riv PEBPACE. 

connexion succeeded. The result was the birth 
of a female child, who was christened at Mary- 
lebone church, under the names of Greorgiana 
Augusta Trederica Seymour, — Lord Cholmon- 
deley and one or two other persons only being 
present. While Mrs. EUiott remained with the 
Prince, she of course mingled in the brilliant 
society about him, and among many other per- 
sons of distraction became acquainted with the 
iU-fated Duke of Orleans, afterwards known 
as Phihppe Egalite, so often mentioned in 
her memoirs. His fondness for England, its 
people, and its institutions was well known, 
and at that time he was popular here, espe- 
cially in sporting society. 

We cannot ascertain with certainty when 
Mrs. Elliott again left England to reside in 
Paris ; but probably it was about the year 1786. 
Her little daughter was left in charge of Lord 
and Lady Cholmondeley, but was occasionally 
permitted to visit her mother at Paris. On 


these occasions slie was always accompanied 
by a nurse and a footman of Lord Cholmon- 
deley's; but she never resided any length of 
time with her mother. The Prince of Wales, 
it is said, made Mrs. ElHott a handsome allow- 
ance, and she derived 200^. a year also from 
her husband's family. With these few pre- 
fatory remarks we now leave her to teH her 
own interesting story. 






In the year 1789, July tlie 12th, which was 
on a Sunday, I went, with the Duke of Orleans, 
Prince Louis D'Aremberg, and others whose 
names I do not recollect, to fish and dine at the 
Duke's chateau of Eaincy, in the Porest of 
Bondy, near Paris. We returned to Paris in 
the evening, meaning to go to the Comedie 
Italienne. We had left Paris at eleven o'clock in 
perfect tranquillity ; but on our return at eight 
o'clock, at the Porte St. Martin (where the 
Duke's town-carriage was waiting for him, and 
my carriage for me), my servant told me that 



I could not go to the play, as the theatres were 
all shut by orders from the poHce ; that Paris 
was all in confusion and tumult ; that the Prince 
de Lambesc had entered the gardens of the 
TuUeries, and put aU the people to flight ; that 
he had killed an old man [not true] ; that the 
French Ghiards and the regiment Eoyal Alle- 
magne (which was the Prince of Lambesc's 
own regiment), were at that moment fighting 
on the Boulevards of the Ohaussee D'Antin, 
opposite the depot of the French Guards ; that 
many cavaUers and horses had been killed ; and 
that the mob were carrying about the streets 
the busts of the Duke of Orleans and of Necker, 
crying, " Vive k Due d' Orleans ! Vive Necker I" 
When my servant had given me this infor- 
mation, I begged the Duke not to go into 
Paris in his own carriage, as I thought it 
would be very imprudent for him to appear in 
the streets at such a moment; and I offered 
him my carriage. On hearing of the events in 
Paris he seemed much surprised and shocked ; 
he told me that he hoped it would be nothing, 
-and that my servant, through fear, must have 


exaggerated tte events. I thought that the 
Duke meant to show himself to the mob, and 
really had projects to make a party had he 
done so, but I never saw more unfeigned surprise 
than his when he heard that Paris was in such 
a situation. He then got into my carriage, and 
begged me t^ set him down at the Salon des 
Princes, a club frequented by all the nobility, 
and where he said he should meet people who 
would tell him the news. When we got to the 
club, however, it was also shut by a police order, 
as was every other club in Paris. We then 
ordered my coachman to drive to the Duke's 
house at Monceau, but as the troops were actu- 
ally at that moment fighting on the Boulevards, 
and the ground was covered with dead and 
wounded men and horses, we were obliged to 
go by the Carrousel, and along the Tuileries 
garden-wall to the Place Louis Quinze, which 
we found fall of troops, both horse and foot. 
They were commanded by the Mareschal de 
Broglie, and had been for some days before 
encamped in the Park of St. Cloud, and had 
marched into Paris that evening. 



I never in my life shall forget the awiul but 
beautiful appearance the Place Louis Quinze 
presented at that moment. The troops were 
under arms, and the silence was so great that 
if a pin had fallen it might have been heard. 
They allowed no carriages to pass without the 
name of the person being givenaf. I gave mine, 
and my horses were conducted through the 
ranks of cavalry at a foot's pace. They had 
no idea that the Duke of Orleans was in my 
carriage. We went directly to the Duke's 
house at Monceau. By this time it was about 
a quarter past nine o'clock. 

On the Duke's arrival he found his servants 
in the greatest confusion and uneasiness, as 
nobody knew at the Palais Eoyal where he 
was gone; and a report had been circu- 
lated in Paris that day that he had been put 
into the Bastille, and beheaded by the King's 
orders. They told him that all his friends and 
the Princes of the Blood had been at the Palais 
Eoyal and at Monceau to inquire about him ; 
and that they were in the greatest consternation 
and anxiety. He, however, ordered his Suisse 


to let nobody see him that night except the 
Due de Biron ; that he would sleep at Monceau, 
but that if Madame de Buffon came he would 
see her. I asked him " what he meant to do ?" 
He said that he was very undecided, but that he 
should Uke to know what really was going on 
in Paris, and what they were doing, although 
by this time his own people had confirmed 
what my servant had said. He wished Prince 
Louis D'Aremberg could see the Due de 
Biron ; that he then would hear something 
more, which would decide his conduct for that 

Carriages were not allowed to pass through 
the streets of Paris after ten o'clock. As the 
Duke wished to be alone, I went with Prince 
Louis to the Due de Biron's on foot. We saw 
many groups assembled in all the streets near 
the Tuileries and Place Louis Quinze. I was 
very anxious about the Duke's situation, and 
wished much to know the public opinion about 
him ; we therefore mixed in the groups, and of 
course heard different sides of the question : 
some were very violent in the Duke's favour, 


others as violent against him, these latter ac- 
cusing him of wanting to dethrone the King. 

This accusation shocked me so much, that 
I returned directly to Monceau, and told him 
of what horrors they axjcused him. I found Ma- 
dame de Buffon with him, and as her poHtics 
and mine were very diiferent, I caHed the Duke 
into the garden, and we walked there tiU two 
o'clock. I entreated him on my knees to go 
directly to Versailles, and not to leave the King 
whilst Paris was in such a state of tumult ; 
and hy that conduct to show the King that the 
mob made use of his name without his know- 
ledge or consent, and to express how shocked 
he was at what was going on, which I reaUy 
thought he was. He said that " he could not 
go at so late an hour ; that he had heard that 
the avenues were guarded, and that the King 
would be in bed, and could not be seen at that 
hour," but he gave me his word of honour that 
he would go at seven o'clock in the morning. 

We did not find the Due de Biron, nor did 
the Duke of Orleans see him that night. He 
had gone to Versailles in the evening, thinking 


to find the Duke there, or to hear of him, as he 
had a house in the Avenues, besides his apart- 
ments in the Palace, as first Prince of the 
Blood. I then went home, my house being 
near his ; and I heard in the morning that the 
Diike had gone to Versailles. 

On the Monday the Comte D'Artois, the 
Prince of Conde, and the Duke of Bourbon 
made their escape. They did perfectly right, 
for they certainly would have been murdered ; 
but they did not at that moment mean or ex- 
pect, perhaps, to leave their country for ever. 

AU that day, which was the 13th July, Paris 
was a scene of riot and horror. The 
murder of Messrs. De Foulon and MesseUes, 
Prevots des Marchands, is too well known for 
me to relate. I was unfortunate enough to 
try to go to my jeweller's that evening, and 
I met in the Eue St. Honore the soldiers of the 
French Guards carrying Monsieur de Poulon's 
head by the Hght of flambeaux. They thrust 
the head into my carriage : at the horrid sight 
I screamed and fainted away, and had I not 
had an Enghsh lady with me, who had courage 


enougli to harangue the mob, and to say that 
I was an English patriot, they certainly would 
have murdered me; for they began to accuse 
me of being one of poor Toulon's friends, and 
of wishing the people to Hve on hay, of whidi 
they had accused him. I did not attempt to go 
further, but returned home almost dead. I was 
put to bed and bled, and indeed was very ill. 

I soon afterwards received a note from the 
Duke of Orleans, begging me to go to him 
directly at Monceau, but I sent to the Duke 
telling him my situation. He came to me im- 
mediately, and was much alarmed to see me so 
ill. I asked him how he had been received at 
Versailles ? and why he had returned so soon, 
as the States were then at Versailles in the Jeu 
de Paume, and he had apartments in the Cha- 
teau ? He told me that on his arrival, he went 
directly to the King's lev6e, who was just 
getting up. The King took no notice of him; 
but as it was the custom for the first Prince of 
the Blood to give the King his shirt when he 
was present, the gentilhomme de la chambre gave 
the shirt to the Duke of Orleans to put over 


the Eing'shead. The Duke approached the 
King, who asked him " what he wanted ?" The 
Duke, in passing the shirt, said, " I come to 
take your Majesty's commands." The King 
answered him, with great harshness, " I want 
nothing of you — return from whence you came." 
The Duke was very much hurt and very angry ; 
and, leaving the room, went to the States, 
which I think were then sitting in the Jeu de 
Paume ; and he returned to Paris at night. 

He was much more out of humour than I had 
ever seen him. He said, that " the King and 
Queen disHked him, and that they would en- 
deavour to poison him ; that if he wished ever 
so much to he of use to the King and Queen, 
they never would helieve him to be sincere ; 
and that he never would go near them again, 
for he thought himself very cruelly used, as he 
really meant to be of use to the King ; and had 
he been weU received when he went to the 
levee, things might have been better for all 
parties, but now he should make friends of his 

Prom that very instant, indeed, I thought 


the Duke became more violent in politic*; and 
although I never heard him speak with dis- 
respect of the King, I certainly have heard him 
very, very violent against the Queen. I am 
very sorry : the Court should have considered 
the Duke's power, and been more cautious how 
it offended him, for I am certain that at that 
moment, had they treated him with considera- 
tion, and shown him more confidence, they 
might have withdrawn him from the horrible 
creatures who surrounded him — Talleyrand, 
Mirabeau, the Due de Biron, the Viscount de, the Comte de la Mark, and others of 
less note. These were the first who dragged 
the Duke of Orleans into aU the horrors of the 
Eevolution, though many of them forsook him 
when they saw that he was unfit for their 
projects. They left him, however, in worse 
hands than their own ; surrounded him with 
monsters such as Laclos, MerHn de Douay, 
and others, who never left biTin till they had 
plunged him in dishonour, and led him to the 

The Viscount de Noailles told me himself, 


that it was he who introduced that monster 
Laclos to the Duke, and that he had recom- 
mended him as his secretary. This man was 
the cause of all the crimes which the Orleanist 
faction has been supposed to commit; and I 
am certain that the Duke knew little of what 
was going on in his name. 

The Duke was a man of pleasure, who never 
could bear trouble or business of any kind ; who 
never read or did anything but amuse him- 
self. At that moment he was very madly in 
love with Madame de Buffon, driving her about 
all day ia a curricle, jind at all the spectacles in 
the evening ; therefore he could not possibly be 
planning conspiracies. Indeed, the Duke's mis- 
fortune was to have been surrounded by ambi- 
tious men, who led him to their purpose by 
degrees, representing everything to him in a 
favourable hght, and hurrying him on till he 
was so much in their power that he could not 
recede. Then they threatened to leave him, 
if he did not consent to their measures. 

I am certain that the Duke never at that 
time had an idea of mounting the throne, what- 


ever the views of his factious friends might 
have been. If they could have placed him on 
the throne of France, I suppose they hoped to 
govern him and the country; and they were 
capable of any horrors to serve their own 
purposes. The Due de Biron excepted (and 
he was too much led by Talleyrand), there 
never was such a set of monsters as the unfor- 
tunate Duke's self-styled friends, who pretended 
to be acting for the good of their country, 
at the moment they were plotting its total 


Such were the people in whose hands the 
Court had left the Duke. I say left ; for I am 
persuaded that they might, at the beginning, 
have got him out of the hands of those in- 
triffuants, by showing him attention and con- 
fidence. He was too powerful to be neglected. 
Would that they had thought so too ! for it 
would have saved the blood of the unfortunate 
Royal Family, and, indeed, perhaps have saved 
Europe from the dreadftd scenes it has experi- 
enced since this horrid French Eevolution. 
The Duke of Orleans was a very amiable 


and very high-bred man, with the best temper 
in the world, but the most unfit man that ever 
existed to be set up as a chief of a great fac- 
tion. Neither his mind, his abilities, nor indeed 
his education, fitted him for such an elevation ; 
and I long hoped that his heart revolted at the 
idea of bringing his country into a state of 
such cruel anarchy. His factious friends found 
this out at last, for they never could get him to 
attend to any of their projects ; and some of 
them were fortunate enough to make a sort of 
peace with the Court ; leaving the unhappy 
Duke in the hands of those miscreants whom 
they had placed about him, who brought others 
with them like themselves, until they succeeded 
in his total ruin and dishonour. 

This I am grieved to say ; for I had known 
the Duke of Orleans for years, and he had 
always been good and kind to me — as indeed he 
was to everybody who approached him. I had 
a sincere friendship for him, and would have 
given my life to save him from dishonour. 
Nobody can form an idea of what I suffered on 
seeing him by degrees running headlong into 


every sort of disgrace; for I am convinced, 
from the bottom of my soul, that lie never 
thought or intended to go the lengths he 

I have the great comfort of knowing, that 
from the first day of the horrors in Paris, I 
always warned the Duke, and told him how it 
would all end; and I have most awfully to 
lament the little influence I possessed over him ; 
for I ever detested the Eevolution, and those 
who caused it. My conduct at that time is weU 
known to all the King and Queen's friends, 
and by the French Princes now in England, 
who will do me justice, though they know the 
attachment I had for the Duke of Orleans, their 
very gentle but unfortunate cousin. Even when 
I saw him given up and shunned by everybody, 
I received him, and tried to make him sensible 
of his errors. He appeared sometimes as if he 
felt that he was wrong, and I flattered myself 
that he would leave it aU ; but he went from me 
to Madame de Buffon, of whom he was very 
fond, but whose politics, I am sorry to say, were 
those of Laclos and Merlin, whom he always 


found at, her house, where he dined with them 
every day. They persuaded the pliant Duke 
that all which was going on was for the good 
of his country ; and of course what I had said 
was forgotten. To my deep regret, I found he 
was so surrounded that he could not escape 
their snares, and that I did no good. He only 
laughed at me, saying that " I was a proud 
Scotchwoman, who loved nothing but kings 
and princes." 

These thoughts have led me to digress : we 
will now return to the events which followed 
the 13th July, 1789. On the morning of the 
14th, finding myself able to get up, I went 
by my garden to the Duke of Orleans, at 
Monceau, to try to see him before he went to 
the States. At his gate I found a hackney- 
coach in the first court, which surprised me, as 
hackney-coaches were not admitted there. I 
went directly into the garden, which was open. 
I saw the Duke in the room conversing with 
two men. On seeing me he came out, and 
asked me to make breakfast for him and the 
Marquis de Lafayette and Monsieur BaUly, 


two of his Mends. I had known Lafayette 
at. Strasbourg and in Paris, but had never 
seen the other man. 

I found by their general conversation that 
they came to consult the Duke about the events 
which were going on in Paris, and I heard 
afterwards that on this same day Lafayette was 
made commander-in-chief, and Bailly mayor 
of Paris. Whilst we were at breakfast, we 
heard the cannon, and the report of the taking 
of the BastiUe, on which these gentlemen went 
off in a great hurry. The Viscount de NoaiUes 
and the Duke de Biron came in directly after- 
wards, and as I saw I could have no conver- 
sation with the Duke, I went away. The 
Duke came into the garden with me. I had 
only time to entreat him to go once more to 
the King and offer his services. He was very 
angry vsdth me, and asked me whether " I was 
paid by his enemies to give him such advice ?" 
and left me directly. 

I went home extremely unhappy, for I then 
saw that he was at open war with the King, 
which was what I dreaded the most, as from that 



moment I considered him entirely in the hands 
of his factious followers. In the course of that 
day the Bastille was taken, Monsieur de Launay 
and others were murdered, every sort of brutal 
excess was committed, and scenes of horror were 
occurring every hour. The mob obliged every- 
body to wear a green cockade for two days, but 
afterwards they took red, white, and blue, -the 
Orleans livery. The streets, all the evening of 
the 14th, were in an uproar ; the French 
Guards and all those who were at the taking of 
the BastUle, were mad drunk, dragging dead 
bodies and heads and limbs about the streets 
by torch-hght. The same day they went to the 
country-house of M. Berthier, the Intendant of 
Paris, and forced him into a cabriolet to take 
him to Paris. When they got near Paris, a 
fresh mob, with some of the French Guards, 
met him, and with sabres cut off the top of the 
cabriolet. They then beat him and pelted him, 
and cut his legs and face. When they got him 
to the Porte St. Martin, they brought his 
father-in-law's (M. Foulon's) head, and made 
him kiss it, and then they forced him to get out 


of tlie cabriolet, and hung him up to a lantern. 
They then dragged his body through the 
streets, and carried his head to the house of 
his father-in-law, where Madame Berthier, his 
poor wife, was lying-in. They took the head 
into her room ; and she expired that same 
evening from the fright. 

Such were the dreadftd scenes of that day ! 



Conversations with the Duke of Orleans — Sketch of Marie- 
Antoinette — ^Unpopularity of the Duke of Orleans with the 
Court — ^He visits England — The Netherland Eevolutionists 
— My Passport stopped — Colonel Gardiner, English 
Minister at Brussels — Gross insult offered t% the British 
Government — Interview with the Belgian Eevolutionary 
Leaders — Infamous Conduct of Capuchin Priests — My 
Beturn to Paris — The Festival of the Federation at the 
Champ-de-Mars — Louis XVI. — Marie- Antoinette — Talley- 
rand — ^The Duke of Orleans daily drifting into the hands 
of the most violent Eevolutionists — Conversations with 
the Duke — Marie-Antoinette visits my House and Gar- 
dens — Intrusted with a Commission by Marie- Antoi- 
nette — The Ghevaliers de la Poignard — A Leader wanted 
for the Eoyalists. 

From this period I saw little of the Dute of 
Orleans. I went to the chateau of a friend of 
mine at Ivry, near Paris. Many events happened 
in the course of the summer, known to all 
those who have read the history of the French 
Eevolution. My object being only to give 
some anecdotes of the Duke of Orleans, I will 

D 2 


not pretend to detail all tlie events wHcli took 
place; nor indeed could any pen give an 
adequate description of ttem, or any idea of 
that horrid and bloody period, which is a dis- 
grace to human nature. 

The Duke came twice to dine with me in the 
country, and I found his manner much altered. 
He was low-spirited, which never was his natural 
character. I always expressed great uneasiness 
to him o5 account of his situation ; at which he 
laughed, and said that " I was very foolish, and 
that he had no reason to be uneasy ; that I 
was like aU the aristocrats, and wanted to 
thwart popular opinion; that he never was 
angry with people on account of their opinions 
about the Eevolution, and wished that people 
would leave him alone." 

In October I left Ivry, and stayed in Paris 
all the winter. My house being near Monceau, 
I saw the duke very often ; but as I perceived 
that what I said displeased him, I thought it best 
not to talk politics, when I could avoid it. At 
that moment I flattered myself that those hor- 
rible revolutionary principles would soon have 


an end, either by the French people finding out 
their own miserable situation, and rallying round 
their monarch, or by the assistance of foreign 
troops. Though I dreaded the storm which 
then would have faUen on the Duke, yet I must 
own, and indeed I have often told him so, that 
I should prefer to hear of his perpetual impri- 
sonment, even of his death, rather than to 
see him degraded and dishonoured. 

Soon after this came the 5th of October, a me- 
morable and dreadful day. But I must here do 
justice to the Duke of Orleans. He certainly 
was not at Versailles on that dreadful morning, 
for he breakfasted with company at my house, 
when he was accused of being in the Queen's 
apartments disguised. He told us then that 
he heard the fishwomen had gone to Versailles 
with some of the Fauxbourgs, and that people 
said they were gone to bring the King again 
to Paris. He informed us that he had heard 
this from some of his own servants from the 
Palais Eoyal. He said he was the more sur- 
prised at this, as he had left the Palais Eoyal 
gardens at nine o'clock of the night before, and 


all then seemed perfectly quiet. He expressed 
himself as not approving of their bringing the 
King to Paris; "that it mnst be a scheme of 
Lafayette's ;" but added, " I dare say that they 
will accuse me of it, as they lay every tumult 
to my account. I think myself thi^ is a mad 
project, and like all that Lafayette does." He 
stayed at my house till half-past one o'clock. 
I have no reason to suppose that he went to 
Versailles till late in the day, when he went to 
the States, as everybody knows. The unfortu- 
nate King and Queen were brought to Paris 
that evening by Lafayette's mob. 

I have entered into this subject that I may 
have an opportunity of declaring that I firmly 
believe the Duke of Orleans was innocent of 
the cruel events of that day and night ; and that 
Lafayette was the author and instigator of 
the treatment the august Eoyal Family then met 
with. If the Duke of Orleans' greatest ene- 
mies will be candid, I am sure that they must 
acquit him of the events of that day, — a 
day, which, in my opinion, decided the fate 
of the Eoyal Family, and which showed the 


coTintry what dreadful events might be ex- 
pected from such a set of monsters. The 
Duke of Orleans was even tried on this ac- 
count, but the proofs were so absurd that it 
was dropped. And indeed it was clear to 
everybody, that Lafayette and his party were 
the only giiilty people. 

It is well known that the King and Queen 
were never again allowed to return to Ver- 
sailles. They were not even permitted to go 
to St. Cloud, though their health and that of 
their children required country air. They 
used to allow the poor Queen, as a great favour, 
to go out in her coach and six, accompanied 
by the Dauphin and Madame Eoyale, Madame 
Elizabeth, and Madame de Tourzelle. On these 
occasions they always looked dismal and un- 
happy ; indeed they had every reason to be 
so, for very few showed the Queen the least 
respect. Even those who some months before 
would have lain down in the dust to make a 
footstool for her, passed her and splashed her 
aU over. I used frequently to «ieet her Ma- 
jesty when I was driving my curricle. Of 


course I showed her every mark of respect in 
my power, at which she expressed herself much 
pleased. Indeed she had the condescension to 
send one of her equerries, M. de Ohatiers, after 
me, to ask me how my daughter was, as her 
Majesty had been good enough to think her a 
beautiful child, and to take great notice of her 
when she was about three years old, at St. Cloud, 
and had sent the Duke de Liancourt for her, 
and kept her upon her knee all the time their 
Majesties were at dinner. From that moment 
I always felt myself obliged to the Queen for 
her kindness to my child. 

I believe that she was as amiable and good 
a princess as ever lived. She was cruelly 
slandered by the French nation. I have 
known intimately those who attended nearest 
to her Majesty's person, and from whom she 
hid nothing, and they assured me that she 
was goodness itself — a kind and most affec- 
tionate mistress. Indeed she was too much so 
to many who did not deserve her kindness. 
The Queen's misfortune was that she had been 
brought very young to the Court of Louis the 


Mfteentli, where she was exposed to scenes of 
levity and improper society. She had thus 
imhibed a taste for fashions and pubhc amuse=- 
ments, which she could not have enjoyed, had 
she kept up her etiquette as a great queen. 
By this means she made herself many enemies 
amongst the formal old ladies of the Court, 
whom she disliked, and attached herself to 
younger people, whose taste was more suited 
to her own. This was never forgiven by the 
old nobility, and her most innocent actions 
were represented in a bad light ; her enemies, 
indeed, accused her of every sort of vice. But 
let them reflect one moment on those who 
formed the Queen's most intimate society. It 
was Madame Elizabeth, the King's sister, who 
was an angel, and as pure as snow. Was she 
likely to have connived in the Queen's dis- 
honour? The idea is horrid; yet the parties 
at Trianon, which were made so much the sub- 
ject of calumny, were always under the manage- 
ment of that virtuous princess. Madame Eli- 
zabeth's attachment for the Queen continued till 
her last moments, which I think proves more 


than sufl&cient for the rinfortunate Queen's vin- 
dication. Lafayette's treatment of the Eoyal 
Fanuly during their captivity in the Tuileries 
was very harsh. He was always raising re- 
ports of their wishing to escape, that he might 
make himself of consequence hoth to the royal- 
ists and his friends the rebels. These reports 
always ended in some new insult shown to the 
Eoyal Family. 

At this time the Duke of Orleans became 
more and more execrated by the Court and the 
royalists, without having more power in his own 
party, who were constantly making use of his 
name while committing horrors in conjunction 
with Lafayette's party ; and I must here again 
declare I do not believe that what was called 
the Orleans faction ever even consulted the un- 
fortunate Duke about their proceedings. Soon 
after this the Court seemed to treat the Duke 
a Httle better, and the King appointed him 
High Admiral of France, which surprised 
people at that moment. However, his favour 
did not last. The King about that time was 
very ill with a cold, and kept his bed at the 


Tuileries. Of course all the nobility went to 
pay tlieir respects to his Majesty. The Duke 
of Orleans went also. When the King heard 
that he was there, he said, "Let the Duke 
of Orleans approach my bed, and let aU the 
curtains be opened, that he may see that it 
is I; or a report will be raised in Paris that 
I have fled, and that somebody else was in 
the bed." This anecdote the Duke told me 
himself, and he was much displeased with the 
King on that account. 

Soon after this the ministers and the Court 
thought that if they could get the Duke out of 
Paris things would be quieter. They supposed 
him to have more partisans than he really had, 
and also more power. It was at this time 
that they conceived the idea of the Duke being 
made Duke of Brabant — a very ridiculous plan. 
I believe, however, that the Duke was foolish 
enough to consent to it, and, indeed, to wish it 
much. Por that purpose they gave him a sort 
of mission to England, but on what subject I 
never positively knew, as I never conversed 
with the Duke on that matter. Our ministers 


must know wliat brought him to England. 
Many ill-natured reports were spread in Paris, 
such as asserting that Lafayette had forced the 
Duke to leave Paris, as he had proofs that the 
Duke had attempted to get the King assassin- 
ated. This was false, as the Duke and Lafayette 
were at that moment good friends, and had 
met as friends the evening before the Duke 
went to England at Madame de Coigny's, where 
they were on the best of terms, I have some 
letters of Lafayette to the Duke since that 
period, full of respect and compliments. 

In the spring of 1790 I went to Brussels, 
and saw many of the Duke's agents, such as 
Comte de la Mark, Walgains the banker, and 
others ; but I soon found out that the Comte 
was more active with a view of becoming Duke 
of Brabant himself, or at least of getting the 
dukedom into his own family. I saw him as 
active in that revolution as he has been in 
France. That country was then in fall revolt 
against the Emperor. There were two rebel 
parties, the Yandernotts and the Vonckists : 
the first were so on religious pretexts, and 



the others were more inclined to the Jacobins 
of France. This party was the one which was 
supposed to favour the Duke of Orleans ; and of 
this party were the D'Arembergs. I had an op- 
portunity of seeing both Vandernott and Vann- 
par [qy.j, who was a monk of the order of the 
Penitents, and always wore the habit. He was 
a very clever, artful man, and under the mask 
of religion led the others. Vandernott was an 
avocat, very quick and active, and was the chief 
actor under Vannpar. 

At that period people who resided at Brus- 
sels were obliged to have a pass to go out 
of town. On sending one day to the town- 
house to get one to go to the Duke d'Aremberg 
at Enghien, between Halle and Conde, they 
sent me word that they had orders not to let 
me go out of the town. I was much surprised 
and shocked at this, as I considered myself 
an English subject. I went immediately to 
Colonel Gardiner, our Minister at Brussels, to 
complain. He said that " he was not surprised 
at anything the States did ; that they had some 
days before stopped his own messenger going to 


England, and had broken open his despatches ; 
that he had been to the States to complain, 
but had had no redress ; that he did not mean 
to go to them any more till he heard from his 
Court what he was to do ; and that if I insisted 
on his going on my account he would, but he 
thought he had better not." I said, I had a 
great mind to go myself to Vandernott, as I 
used often to meet him, and he always bowed 
to me. Colonel Grardiner thought that I 
should do right. I went accordingly that same 
day, and found Vandernott and Vannpar to- 
gether. I sent in my name, and was very well 
received. I stated my complaint, and that as 
as a subject of the King of England they had 
used me ill. He said that " he had never given 
such orders ; that other members must have 
done it; that he was so much harassed by 
business that he could not be answerable for 
every fault that was committed. He was very 
sorry, and assured me I should from that mo- 
ment have a pass to go and come from Eng- 
hien whenever I pleased." At the same time 
he told me that " he knew I was come from 


Paris, and there saw much of the Duke of 
Orleans, and at Brussels lived a great deal 
with the D'Axembergs, and of course was of 
their party." I assured him that " I was not ; 
that though I saw much of those people, yet I 
never had liked their revolutionary conduct 
either in France or Brabant ; that I always 
was a royalist, and ever should be such ; that I 
was neither a Vandernottist nor a Vonckist. 
Both Vandernott and Vannpar smiled, and said 
" at least I was very honest ; but as there were 
very few royalists in Brussels I was not dan- 
gerous, and they would not disturb me any 
more." They were in high good humour, as 
that very day they had received news of a 
victory over Vandermerck, a Vonckist general. 
The villagers were beginning to enter Brus- 
sels in procession, bringing large baskets filled 
with gold of aU coins, to give to Vandernott 
to carry on the revolution. These processions 
were followed by monks of all orders, Capuchins, 
&c., on horseback with a cross in one hand and 
a sword in the other. They were closed by the 
hangmen of the villages and towns, carrying 


gallows and racks. In the evening these poor 
deluded people returned to their villages drunk 
and in complete riot. 

I witnessed many terrible scenes in Brussels, 
similar to those in France, but here religion was 
the pretext. I saw poor creatures murdered 
in the streets because they did not pull their 
hats off to Capuchins, or for passing a bust of 
Yandernott without bowing very low. His 
busts were put all over the town and even in 
the theatre. Vandernott was a very odd-looking 
man. He was, I fancy, about forty, rather tall 
and thin. He was fuU of vivacity, and did not 
look iU-natured, though very ugly. I never 
shall forget his dress. It was a Quaker- 
coloured silk coat Hned with pink and narrow 
silver-lace, a white dimity waistcoat, white 
cotton stockings, net ruffles with fringe round 
them, and a powdered bob-wig. 

The horrors now began to gain ground in 
Brussels. The Austrians got possession of the 
town, but were unfortunately driven out again 
by the patriots. There was a truce one night. 
During this time the poor Austrians were lying 


in the Park of Brussels, without food or anything 
they wanted, for the inhabitants of Brussels did 
not dare even to sell them an ounce of bread. 
Here they lay all night in the wet. As my 
house was in the Park, I gave them out of 
the window everything that was ia the house 
of eatables and drink ; and so did Prince Louis 
d'Aremberg, though it was not his. brother's 
party, he having always remained a staunch 

As I feared when the Austrians left Brussels 
that I might be ill-used by the mob, I set off 
for Paris the next day, hoping to remain there 
quiet. At this time the Duke of Orleans was 
in England, but his enemies having propagated 
stories of his not daring to return to France, 
his friend the Due de Biron pressed him 
much to return, and show the world that he 
was not afraid of Lafayette. I was in Paris 
when the Duke returned, which was the 13th 
of July, 1790, at night. The following day, 
the 14th, was the first famous Federation, 
when the King and Queen went to the Champ 
de Mars, and when Monsieur de Talleyrand, 


tiian Bishop of Autun, said mass before their 
Majesties. The Duke of Orleans walked in the 
procession, and people were much surprised to 
see him, after the reports which had been circu- 

I saw him that same day. He dined with me, 
as did the Due de Biron and others. He had 
brought me letters from England, where he 
had seen my daughter. The Duke expressed 
much regret at leaving England: would to 
to God that he had stayed there ! He was, 
however, rather weU received at Paris ; but his 
faction was always afraid lest he should be-better 
treated by the Court, and so slip through their 
fingers. They were enchanted at his having 
been very much insulted one day at Court, as 
they saw that they had nothing more to fear 
from that quarter ; and the Duke by that means 
became every day more and more in their power. 

I wish that the Court would have believed 
me. The Queen had very often expressed her 
approbation, and indeed had sent me kind mes- 
sages as to my conduct during the Bevolution. 
She well knew the advice I always gave the Duke 


of Orleans ; indeed lier Majesty charged me 
once with a mission to Brussels, which showed 
the opinion she honoured me with, though she 
knew that I saw the Duke every day. I always 
hoped to be of use, but alas ! I did not succeed. 
Madame de Buffon and the Duke's friends did 
everything they could to prevent his coming 
to me. They used to teU him that as I saw 
none but royalists and his enemies, I should 
get him assassinated. However, he never 
would give me up ; and though he heard 
nothing but harsh truth from me, he always 
came to me, and he always assured me that he 
believed I was sincere in thinking I gave him 
good advice, but that the royalists had turned 
my head, and would cause my ruin. I wish 
that he had believed in my foresight, for I 
often foretold him what has since happened. 

I took at that time a house at Issy, near Paris, 
which belonged to the Duchess St. Infantador. 
She, poor woman, had been a friend of the 
Queen, who used often to go to Issy with 
her children to walk in the grounds. It was 
a beautifal place, and there her Majesty could 

E 2 


enjoy a little quiet, without being followed by a 
crowd of iSTational Guards. The people of the 
village accused the Duchess of hiding effects of 
the Court and royalists, and used to go in the 
dead of the night and search the house. This 
plagued her so much, that she left France and 
returned to Spain, leaving orders that her 
house might be let. I took it for two years, 
but the viH^ge was so Jacobin that I left it, 
and bought a small cottage at Meudon, some 
miles further. The Queen came twice to Issy 
while I had it, and was always condescending 
enough to ask my leave to walk in the 

Her Majesty, hearing that I had thoughts of 
returning to Brussels, sent a great lady to my 
house with a small box and a letter for the 
Archduchess, which I was to deliver into her 
own hands. I did not intend going to Brussels, 
but I never made that known to her Majesty. 
I got a passport from Lord Gower, our am- 
bassador, and felt myself happy in taking this 
journey to be of use to the Queen. "When I 
got to Brussels, the Archduchess had just left it 


with the Duke Albert ; and as the Queen had 
foreseen the possibility of this, she had desired 
me in that case to deliver it to General Boileau, 
who was at Mons, commanding the Austrian 

The Queen's coming to Issy gave rise to a 
report that her Majesty had had a conversation 
with the Duke at Issy. The Duke would often 
dine with me there, and indeed often met the 
young nobles who had returned to Paris from 
Grermany or England, in hopes of being of use 
to the King. But all their plans were ill-con- 
ceived and very ill-executed, turning out always 
to the unfortunate King's disadvantage, as they 
gave the conspirators an opportunity of con- 
fining the King and his family more severely. 
I was always uneasy when the Duke came and 
the royalists were present, as I was afraid of the 
Duke meeting with any insult in my house. 
That would have made me miserable. But as 
politics were never discussed, and the Duke was 
very civil and good-natured to them, nothing 
disagreeable happened ; though the young men, 
as well as the Duke, seemed much embarrassed. 


They had all been his intimate friends before 
the Eevolution, and had Kked and respected 
him much ; therefore their situation was more 
distressing. These nobles were what were called 
Les Chevaliers de la Poignard. 

Everybody must remember the day when 
they ralUed round the "King at the TuUeries, a 
project which was not of the least use. They 
wanted numbers, and an able chief. Had any 
prince of the Bourbons come to Paris, or 
planted a standard to make a rallying point 
for the royalists in any part of France, I really 
think the King might have been delivered ; but 
very unfortunately there was no one chief on 
whom they could depend. 

I myself, since the reign of Bonaparte, have 
heard Greneral Leopold Berthier, brother to the 
Minister at War, say that he and his brother 
would have repaired to any standard where 
there was a chief of the House of Bourbon, 
and have fought for the King to the last drop 
of their blood. I have heard other generals say 
as much. I am certain that three parts, at least, 
of France would have done the same. 


What a misfortune for the world that this 
was not the case ! Even the brave and loyal 
Yendeans were sacrificed for want of a proper 
chief. That valiant and hardy people, in spite 
of all the calamities they had suffered, would 
ever have been ready to rise for the royal 
cause. Their loyalty and rehgion will always 
keep them faithful subjects. 

The King, poor man, had now little exercise. 
When he rode out, accompanied by the few 
friends he had left, such as the Due de 
Brisac, the Chevalier de Coigny, and others, 
that wretch Lafayette always followed him 
with twenty or thirty of the officers of the 
National Gruards, so that he seldom went out, 
as his rides were not comfortable in such 



Conduct of Monsienr, since Lonis XVlil. — Gentleness of 
Lonis XVI. — Eoyal Family escajte to Varennes — Brought 
back to Paris — Their brutal treatment by the Mob — 
Position of the Duke of Orleans — His disposition — ^He joins 
the Army— The Mob break into the Toileries, and insult 
the King — Marie-Antoinette's last appearance in public — 
The 10th of August— My Flight to Meudon— Return to 
Paris — Adventures — ^Murder of the Swiss Guards — ^Ex- 
traordinary escape of Marquis de Chansenets. 

Monsieur, now Louis XV 111. was in Paris 
during all these events ; but lie lived a great 
deal with people of letters, and seldom left the 
Luxembourg but to go to the Tiuleries. Many 
have blamed this prince for his conduct when 
he went to the Hotel de YiEe ; but I am ceriiaia, 
and everybody is now convinced of it, that his 
motive for so doing was the hope of beiag of 
use to the unfortunate King, his brother. 
These were most certainly virtuous motives, 
^though not attended with success. This 


prince has always been much, respected by the 
King's friends, and those who blamed him the 
most saw that the motive was good. 

The friends of Lafayette were ever talking 
of the King's escape. Would to God that he 
had succeeded in getting off ! It would have 
spared France from many crimes, and saved the 
life of that virtuous monarch, who was too good 
to reign over such miscreants. He was religious, 
and could not bear to shed the blood of his 
subjects; for had he, when the nobles went 
over to the Tiers Bfcats, caused the unfortunate 
Duke of Orleans, and about twenty others, to be 
arrested and executed, Europe would have been 
saved from the calamities it has since -suffered ; 
and I should now dare to regret my poor 
friend the Duke, who, instead of dying thus 
regretted, lived to be despised and execrated, 
and to perish on a scaffold by the hands of 
those whom he iiad dishonoured himself to 
serve. These are cruel truths for me to tell, 
but such they are. 

Everybody knows thait in the summer of 
1791 the King and royal family tried to 


make their escape. I have no doubt that 
Lafayette was privy to the event, and after- 
wards through fear betrayed him. They were 
stopped at Varennes, used most cruelly, and 
brought back to Paris in a most barbarous 
manner. I saw them in the Champs Elysees as 
they came back, and witnessed such a scene as 
it is impossible to describe. The insolence of 
the mob and the wretches that surroimded the 
travelling coaches they were in was very ter- 
rible. The faithful Garde de Corps, who had 
followed the King, were tied hands and feet 
with ropes on the coach-box of their Majesties' 
carriage, which went at a foot-pace, that the 
monsters might follow. They were leaning 
on the coach, smoking, swearing, and talldng 
the most indecent language. They prevented 
any air getting iato the earriagey though the 
poor Queen was dying with heat and fatigue, for 
they had not been in bed since they left Paris, 
and it was one of the hottest days I ever felt, 
This was another dreadful event. 

I left Paris that evening for Spa, and found 
Monsieur, now Louis XVIII., at Brussels. 


He had succeeded in making Ms escape by Val- 
enciennes. I wish that the King had taken that 
road and gone alone, hut he never could he 
persuaded to leave the Queen, as he feared that 
the mob would murder her. I stayed at Spa 
till September. Would that I had never 
again returned to France ! But at that moment 
we expected the Prussians, the Austrians, and 
Swedes to join and save France from any 
further faction ; for though the King's arrest 
at Yarennes had much damped the spirits of 
the royalists, the case was too interesting to 
be given up. Spa was fuU of emigrants, and 
they aU expected soon to return to France. 
The unfortunate King of Sweden, who was 
himself assassinated some months after, was a 
sincere friend to the King of France, and would 
have aided the counter-revolution with all his 
power. I knew him, and thought him one of 
the best-bred and most amiable men I ever saw. 
On my return to Paris I found that many of 
the emigrants had entered France in hopes of a 
change, but Lafayette and his friends had so 
surrounded both the outside and inside of the 


King's palace witli spies, that it was hardly- 
possible for the friends of the King or Queen to 
have any communication with them j and their 
projects were again and again frustrated. 

I cannot recollect any other events of that 
year, except that on my return to Paris I found 
the Due de Choiseul and the Comte Charles 
de Damas had been arrested for being colonels 
of the two regiments which were to have 
favoured the King's escape. I had a letter 
given me at Spa by Comte Eoger Damas for 
his brother, and I was determined to deliver it 
into his own hands, for feiar it might contain 
anything about the passing events. He was 
imprisoned at the Mercy, a convent of Brothers 
in the Marais. I obtained admission there, and 
saw both him and the Due de Choiseul. They 
were in very low spirits, but the King got 
them relieved soon after. 

After this, I remained always either at Issy 
or in Paris, tiH I bought my house at Meudon. 
I often saw the Duke -of Orleans, but was so 
disappointed at the very unfortunate turn every- 
thing took for the royal cause, that I avoided as 


much as possible listening to anything on the 
subject. I observed also how the Duke was 
daily lowering himself. I was, indeed, very 
unhappy. His faction, and of course himself, 
were accused of the disturbances which were 
going on. That faction, without the Duke, 
was capable of anything ; stiQ I do not 
believe that all the riots were committed by it. 
Lafayette did much harm. 

The Duke of Orleans was taxed with having 
given large sums of money at the beginning 
of the Eevolution to incite the French Guards 
to revolt; This I do not believe; nor could 
those who examined his papers and afiairs 
after his death ever find any evidence of 
this having been the case. Those who made 
this examination were not the Duke's friends, 
and would not have spared him could they 
have found it out. There were in his ac- 
counts only thirteen thousand Hvres for which 
they could not account ; but so small a sum 
could not have paid such a body of men. 
Lafayette himseK incited them to revolt. I am 
certain, that had the Duke of Orleans expected 


the EeTolution to last more than six months, 
he never would have wished it. He had 
the great fault of not forgiving easily. His 
governor, the Comte de Pons, when he had 
finished the Duke's education, and he went out 
of his hands, made use of this expression : " I 
have finished the education of a young prince 
who will make a noise, hut he must not be 
offended — he does not pardon." This, however, 
was not quite the case, for I have seen him 
forgive ; and never saw him nor heard him say 
any iU-natured thing to anybody until his head 
was turned by the horrid Eevolution. 

In the year 1792, the Duke went to join the 
French Army du Nord, commanded by the old 
Comte de Eochambeau. He had his three sons 
with him ; at least. Monsieur le Due de Mont 
pensier and the Comte de Beaujolais. I think 
that the Due de Chartres was then more ad- 
vanced in Brabant with Dumourier, but I can- 
not remember the events of the army. The poor 
Eoyal Family got worse used every day : their 
existence indeed was terrible. When the French 
army was defeated at Mons, the Due de Birou 


commanded, and the Dukes of Chartres and 
Montpensier were with him. It was their first 
campaign, and I remember that it was after 
this period the Duke of Orleans went to join 
the army at Courtray, and took his youngest 
son, Comte de Beaujolais, with him. 

In the course of this summer, the 20th of 
Jime, the Poissardes and the Fauxbourgs, 
headed by Santerre, came down to the Tuile- 
ries, and forced their way into the King's apart- 
ments, as the King would never allow the 
troops to fire on the mob ; indeed, most part of 
the troops were National Guards, who were no 
better than the mob that came. These mis- 
creants forced the red cap on the King's head, 
and used gross and familiar language to him. 
They wanted to get to the Queen's apartments, 
as was supposed to murder her. It was Madame 
Ehz'abeth who prevented them. However, the 
Queen was frightened, and came and placed 
herself by the King's side, to whom she always 
fled for protection. They brought a little red 
cap for the dear little Dauphin. He was 
present, dressed in the regimentals of the 


nation, for they had formed a corps of little 
boys wHcli was called the Prince Dauphin's 
regiment. In short, this mob, after staying 
a great part of the evening, annoying the King 
and Queen, drinking and stealing everything 
they could lay their hands on, quitted the 
Palace, and left the Eoyal Family convinced 
that they had now nothing to expect but 
similar insults. 

At that period I received a letter from the 
Duke of Orleans, who was then at Courtray, 
which letter I^have now before me, expressing 
his satisfaction at being out of Paris at that 
moment. In it he says: "1 hope they will 
not now accuse me ;" but if he was innocent, 
his friends perhaps were not ; and the gross 
insult offered to the King at the Palace was 
imputed to Eobespierre and Marat, who never 
were even of the Orleans faction. After' the 
20th of June, the people who wished weU to 
the King and Queen were desirous that her 
Majesty should sometimes appear in public, 
accompanied by the Dauphin, a most interest- 
ing, beautiful child, and her charming daughter, 


Madame Eoyale. In consequence of this she 
went to the Comedie Italienne with her 
children, Madame EHzabeth, the King's sister 
and Madame Tourzelle, governess to the royal 
children. This was the very last time on which 
her Majesty appeared in public. I was there 
in my own box, nearly opposite the Queen's ; 
and as she was so much more interesting than 
the play, I never took my eyes off her and 
her family. The opera which was given was 
Les Evenemens Imprevus, and Madame Dugazon 
played the souhrette. Her Majesty, from her 
first entering the house, seemed distressed. She 
was overcome even by the applause, and 1 saw 
her several times wipe the tears from her eyes. 
The Httle Dauphin, who sat on her knee the 
whole night, seemed anxious to know the cause 
of his unfortunate mother's tears. She seemed 
to soothe him, and the audience appeared well 
disposed, and to feel for the cruel" situation of 
their beautiful Queen. In one of the acts a 
duet is sung by the souhrette and the valet, 
where Madame Dugazon says : ' Ah ! comme 
j'aime marmdtresse !' As she looked particularly 


at the Queen at the moment she said this, some 
Jacobins, who had come into the playhouse, 
leapt upon the stage, and if the actors had not 
hid Madame Dugazon, they would have mur- 
dered her. They hurried the poor Queen and 
family out of the house, and it was aU the 
Guards could do to get them safe into their 
carriages. By this time the Queen's party 
began to beat the Jacobins, but the soldiers 
interfered, and of course nothing could be done. 
This was, I say, her Majesty's last appearance 
in public. There were very few indeed at the 
theatre that night who had not made a point 
of going on purpose to applaud the Royal 
Family ; but the Jacobins finding that, sent for 
their own people to insult this interesting 

The next event which occurred was the 10th 
of August, never to be forgotten ! As I was 
getting up I heard a great cannonading. My 
house beiag in the Faubourg St. Honore, not 
far from the Tmleries, the noise was terrible. I 
soon heard the dreadful news that the Faubourgs 
St. Antoine and St. Marceau, having Santerre 


at their head, had marched down and attacked 
the Tuileries ; that the King and Queen had fled 
to the National Assembly ; in short, I heard of 
the horrors which were going on. My first 
wish was to leave Paris, and go to my house 
at Meudon, but I was told that the barriers of 
Paris were shut, and no one was allowed to go 
out of the town. 

In the course of the morning I had an 
opportunity of being of use to three or four 
Swiss soldiers, whom I hid in my house till 
the evening : Major Packman living in the Eue 
Verte, and his garden and mine joining, they 
had come over the wall. I wish I could haVe 
done as much for their major, but he, poor man, 
perished that same day. I don't know whether 
the men who were hidden in my house were 
saved. They would go away in the evening, 
and I never heard of them more. My maid 
put me in mind of a porter of mine, who had 
taken a garden and small house behind the 
Invalides, and near the Military School. She 
said that she had often heard him declare that 
there was a breach in the walls of Paris close to 

F 2 


him, which the smugglers had made, and that 
any one with little trouhle could get over. I 
desired my maid to say nothing to my servants 
ahout this, but at nine o'clock to walk with me 
to this man's house, who was a very honest and 
good creature. When I got there he seemed 
afraid of assisting me, for fear of a discovery ; but 
I promised him secresy , and that my maid should 
return to my house in Paris, and that I would 
go alone. I could not take her with me, as 
everything I had was in Paris, and my house 
at Meudon being small I kept few servants 

I got safely over the wall, crossed the plains 
of Vaugirard in the dark, in fear every moment 
of meeting patrole or murderers, till I got to 
the bottom of the steep hill which leads up to 
the Chateau of Meudon, my house being on the 
top of the hill. I had never looked back : my 
heart beat hard. I thought every moment 
that I was followed. About the middle of the 
hill I saw a man coining towards me, and was 
so much terrified that I dropped down amongst 
the vines which border the hiU, quite losing 


my senses. On my recovery I neither saw nor 
heard anybody. Perhaps it was some poor 
wretch making his escape, who was as much 
alarmed as I was. I was then not very far from 
my own house, and with great pain I reached it, 
but so much fatigued and agitated that they 
were obliged to undress me and put me to bed 
almost senseless. My feet were covered with 
blood, having no soles to my shoes or stockings. 
My shoes were thin white silk, and that road 
is very stony. 

I remained at Meudon as quiet and retired 
as I could till the dreadful 2nd of September. 
In the morning of that day a boy, who looked 
like a beggar, brought me a note from a friend 
of mine, entreating me to come to Paris, and 
to bring a passport with me for myself and 
servant, and to come alone, as I might by that 
means be of use to an unhappy person ; stating 
that if I wished to be of service I must come 
directly. I did not hesitate, but went at once 
to the mayor of Meudon, who gave me a passport 
for myself and servant^ to return before twelve 
o'clock at night. I got into one of the cabriolets 


wldch hold two people with a driver on the 
outside, and I went "quite alone. When I 
reached the Barrier Yaugirard, which is in the 
section of the Croix Eouge, and was one of the 
worst in Paris, I showed the guard% my pass 
by which I was to return at night. They said 
that I must go to the section-house, and get it 
signed. The soldiers seemed surprised at my 
wishing to enter Paris at such a moment. 
They told me that the people were murdering in 
the prisons ; that the streets were running in 
blood • and that those who were in Paris would 
give aU they had in the world to be out of it. 
I told them that I had a mother dying, who 
wished to see me, and that I could not refuse 
to go to her. They pitied me, and were very 

I then went to the section-house. I for- 
got to mention that they asked me for my 
servant at the barrier, and I told them that 
he had been sent back for some papers, which 
I was taking to my mother. The guard, who 
went with me to the section-house, stated this, 
and of course they were not very suspicious 


about a person who wished to enter Paris at such 
a moment. I then went directly to my friend's 
house in the Eue de .I'Encre, on the Boule- 
vards de I'Ancienne Opera, and I found to my 
very great surprise that the person she wished 
me to serve was the Marquis de Chansenets, 
governor of the Tuileries, who had been con- 
cealed ia the roof of her house since the 10th 
of August. 

I had heard, as had many others, that he 
had been murdered in the palace on the 10th. 
However, he had been fortunate enough to 
escape. He had passed, the night between the 
9th and 10th with the King in the interior of 
the palace,, and of course was in his uniform, 
which was that of major-general. The troops 
in the palace were the brave and magnificent 
regiment of Swiss Guards, and the brave 
battalion of St. Thomas du Louvre, who all 
fought with great courage, till they foimd 
that the King and his family were gone, 
and that they had no more to do. The Swiss 
Guards and the battalion of St. Thomas were 
cut to pieces. Those who were left were 


murdered by the mob, as were the officers. 
Some indeed were beheaded. Monsieur de 
Chansenets never left their Majesties till the 
King was persuaded by Ecederer to fly to the 
Assembly for protection for his family. The 
Queen showed much reluctance to take such a 
step, and did everything in her power to 
prevent the King going, and even went on her 
knees to him, but he thought that it would save 
the blood of his subjects, and that his family 
would be in safety, for I firmly believe that he 
never considered himself in the matter. When 
the unfortunate Queen left the palace, she gave 
her hand to Monsieur de Chansenets, and said, 
" I fear we are doing wrong, but you know that 
I cannot persuade. Adieu ! Grod only knows 
if ever we shall meet again !" 

After their departure, Chansenets had only 
time to try to make his escape, as the troops 
and the mob had got into the Palace, and were 
murdering everybody belonging to the King, 
and pillaging everything which came in their 
way. Poor Chansenets, finding that he had no 
chance of escape, being so well known as 


governor of tlie Palace, threw himself out of 
one of the low windows into the garden, which 
was heaped with the bodies of the poor Swiss 
soldiers and others. There he lay amongst the 
dead and wounded all day, not daring to stir. 
At the time the weather was . so very hot that 
the stench of the bodies became terrible in a 
few hours. 

Towards evening one of the National 
Guards, who went to look amongst the dead 
and wounded for one of his friends, found 
that Monsieur Chansenets was alive. He 
knew him, and told him to get up, and he 
would lend him his coat, and remain himseK 
in a waistcoat. He then recommended him to 
make his escape as well as he could, for that 
he could give him no farther aid ; and that 
what he was then doing tfould perhaps cost 
him his Hfe. Chansenets went as fast as he could 
out of the garden by the Carrousel, almost faint- 
ing with fatigue, heat, want of food and rest. 
When he had reached the Eue de I'EcheUe 
he could go no further. A poor woman who 
was standing at her shop-door asked him in. 


supposing him to be one of the soldiers tired. 
He told her that lie was an Englishman ; that 
curiosity had led him into tlie palace in the 
course of the day ; that the mob had used him 
ill, and that a National soldier had lent him 
his coat. He assured her that he had been aU 
day without food, and begged her to give him 
a crust of bread and a drop of brandy. As he 
spoke bad rrench, with an English accent, 
she believed him; but she told him that he 
must not stay there, as she expected her 
husband home every instant, and she said that 
he was a Jacobin, and detested gentlemen. 
She added, that she was sure by the fineness of 
his hnen he was a noble; that her husband 
had been very busy all day murdering the 
Swiss soldiers and the King's friends ; and that 
she would not at all wish him to fall into her 
husband's hands, as he hated also the Enghsh. 
The woman had not had time to get the bread 
when her husband came home. She had 
just time to put him behind a press. She, 
however, had the presence of mind to stop her 
husband at the door and teU him that one of 


his friends was anxious to see him, and was 
waiting for him at a cabaret jnst by. 

The moment the man was gone she pushed 
Chansenets into the street without saying a 
word. It was then night, and he considered that 
if he could crawl to Lord Gower's, who was the 
English ambassador then in Paris, he might 
there meet with some means of hiding himself 
at least for the night. The ambassador lived 
in the Fauxbourg St. Grermains on the new 

On Chansenets' arrival there he s^w Mr. 
Huskisson, Lord Grower's secretary, who was 
very kind to him, and went to inform Lord 
Grower of his being there. Lord Gower, 
however, as a public man, and not knowing what 
was to become of himself, could not receive 
him, as a strong proclamation had been pub- 
lished that night, and readby a man on horseback 
in the streets, prohibiting everybody, on pain of 
death, to receive or give any aid to the pro- 
scribed people who were with the King in the 
Tuileries, and thus pointing most at Monsieur 
de Chansenets as governor. Mr. Huskisson 


lent him clothes. When he left Lord Grower's 
he hardly knew what to do ; nor had he any 
idea where to go. At last he recollected 
having seen some time before an English lady 
at my house, who Hved very retired and kept 
but one maid, and her lodging was in a part 
of Paris very" private. He tliought that he might 
venture to go to her, and try if she could by 
any means hide him for that night, as he had 
no creature else to whom he could apply; for 
his other friends had many servants, who I am 
sorry t(^ say were little to be trusted. 

My friend's lodging was in the Eue de TEncre 
behind the old Opera-house. She lived up four 
pair. Chansenets got to her house late, having 
gone through by-streets. The porter at the 
lodge, who always draws a string, there being 
other lodgers, in the house, only asked, " Who's 
there?" Chansenets said, " Monsieur Smith, for 
Madame Meyler," and as she was at home he 
went up. She was much surprised and terrified 
at seeing him, having heard in the day that he 
was killed. He had never been in her house 
before, but as he knew that she was a very good- 


natured woman and a good royalist, he ran no 
risk. She heard and saw his distress with 
horror, for he was in a most deplorable state. 
She had no means of hiding him, yet she could 
not bear the idea of turning him into the 
streets at that late hour, when he must have 
been taken by the bloodhounds who were in 
search for him. Her jnaid was a very faithful 
old woman, and also a royalist ; they there- 
fore thought it best to confide in her, and teU 
her what an unfortunate man she then had in 
her power. She then assured him that as he 
had had such confidence in her she certainly 
thought she could hide him in the roof of the 
room she lay in ; but that she feared the people 
who lived in the house might hear him ; besides, 
that the porter had seen him go in and had told 
her that there was a gentleman upstairs with 
her mistress. They therefore both went down 
to the door with Chansenets as if he were 
going away, and wished him good-night. Mrs. 
Meyler stood at the door of the porter's lodge 
and talked to him, whilst her old woman 
pretended to let a little dog into the street. 


during tHs time Chansenets slipped up- 
stairs ; in short tliey Md him as well as they 
could that night. 

The same bloody scenes continued the next 
day in Paris. Poor Laporte, the Intendant of 
Finances, was executed, as well as many others, 
officers of the Swiss Guards. The same pro- 
clamations were read in. the streets against the 
Governor of the Tuileries, the Prince de Poix, 
&c. The fate of the unfortunate Eoyal Family 
was decided upon — they were sent to the 
Temple. Domiciliary visits were made in most 
parts of Paris.* Mrs. Meyler not knowing 

* Let the reader fancy to himself a vast metropolis, the 
streets of which were a few days before alive with the con- 
course of carriages, and with citizens constantly passing and 
repassing, suddenly struck with the dead silence of the grave, 
before sunset, on a fine summer evening. All the shops are 
shut ; everybody retires into the interior of his house, trem- 
bling for life and property ; all are in fearful expectation of the 
events of a night in which even the efforts of despair are not 
likely to afford the least resource to any individual. The 
sole object of the domiciliary visits, it is pretended, is to search 
for arms; yet the barriers are shut, and guarded vnth the 
strictest vigilance, and boats are stationed on the river, at 
regular distances, filled with armed men. Every one sup- 
poses himself to be informed against. Everywhere persons 


what to do with, her miserable prisoner, he being 
extremely iU with a nervous fever, as they 
feared these visits, they were obliged 'to wrap 
him in a blanket and put him down, a very 
dirty place, whence they could only take him 
out when the streets and houses were quiet. In 
short, she contrived to hide him tiU the 2nd 

and property are put into concealment. Everywhere are 
heard the interrupted sounds of the muffled hammer, with 
cautious knock, completing the hiding-place. Eoofs, garrets, 
sinks, chimneys — all are just the same to fear, incapable of 
calculating any risk. One man squeezed up behind the 
wainscot, which had been naUed back on him, seems to form 
a part of the wall ; another is suffocated with fear and heat 
between two mattresses ; a third, rolled up in a cask, loses 
aU sense of existence by the tension of his sinews. Appre- 
hension is stronger than power. Men tremble, but they do 
not shed tears : the heart shivers, the eye is duU, and the 
breast contracted. Women, on this occasion, display ffrodi- 
gies of tenderness and intrepidity. It was by them that 
most of the men were concealed. It was one o'clock in the 
morning when the domiciliary visits began. Patrols, con- 
sisting of sixty pikemen, were in every street. The nocturnal 
tumult of so many armed men ; the incessant knocks to make 
people open their doors ; the crash of those which were 
burst off their hinges ; and the continual uproar and revelling 
which took place throughout the night in all the public- 
houses, formed a picture which will never be effaced from 
my memory. — Peltier. 


September, wten an order came out that every 
section was to make visits at different hours of 
the night in every house, and that the search 
was to be very severe. It then became im- 
possible for her to keep Monsieur de Chansenets 
any longer. She knew that I had not been in 
Paris since the 10th of August, and she there- 
fore wrote me the note which I have already 
mentioned, requesting me to come to Paris. 



The Princess Lamballe's Murder — Incidents in the Escape 
of the Jlarqnis de Ohansenets— My Adventures in aiding 
him — ^Domestic "Spies— Terror during Domiciliary Visit — 
Interview and Conversation with the Duke of Or- 
leans — The Duke procures the escape of the Marquis to 

I HAVE already given an account of the 
surprise of tlie soldiers on my entering Paris 
at such a moment of general consternation. 
On my road to Mrs. Meyler's, I met the 
mob on the Boulevard, with the head and 
body of the unfortunate Princess de Lamballe, 
which they had just brought from La Force, 
where they had murdered her ; and in coming 
from thence they had had the barbarity to 
take it to the Temple, to show the poor Queen. 
At that moment, indeed, I wished that I had 
not come into Paris. On reaching my friend's 
house, I was much surprised to find that it was 



poor Cliansenets about whom she had interested 
herself. I had seen a great deal of him before 
the Eevolution, at the Duke of Orleans', but I 
had no very particular friendship for him. 
He was now in such a weak state that he 
could hardly support himself. I was very much 
affected to see him in such a situation at such 
a moment. I thought by getting him out of 
Paris that night, which I imagined might very 
easily be done, he would have a good chance 
of escaping from the Jacobins. It was seven 
o'clock when I arrived at my friend's house. It 
was still too Hght to venture into the streets in 
an open cabriolet with this poor man. I there- 
fore waited until it was quite dark. We then 
went directly to the Barrier de Vaugirard, which 
was our way out of Paris. I made not the least 
doubt that on showing my passport we should 
get out of Paris directly. I was, however, 
shocked and thunderstruck to find that they 
refased to let us pass, though I assured them 
that I had no sort of residence in Paris, nor 
did I know where to go. I entreated them, 
for Grod's sake, to let me go home; but all 


to no purpose. Their orders were such, that 
they told me I should not be able to get out of 
any barrier in Paris ; and they advised me to 
go and get myself a bed, or I should be taken 
up as soon as it was ten o'clock, for at that 
hour the domiciliary visits were to begin, when 
no carriages were allowed to be in the streets. 

The sad situation of both Chansenets and 
myself at this moment may easily be believed. 
He was almost dead with alarm, and my knees 
were knocking together; and what added to 
my distress was the heat of the night. I 
ordered our driver to turn back. He asked 
me where he was to go? I didn't know 
what to say : I was afraid of raising the sus- 
picion of the guards, who were not so civil 
as those of the morning. I did not dare go to 
my own home with Chansenets, as aU my ser- 
vants knew him, and I had a Jacobia cook whom 
I could not trust. Indeed I had not been in 
my house since the 10th of August, and my 
servants would have been surprised to see me 
arrive there at such an hour with a man. I 
therefore did not dare to think of my own 



house, in company with poor Ohansenets. I 
accordingly ordered the man to drive to the 
Barrier de I'Enfer, as I could have got thence to 
.Meudon. I was as Httle successM there, how- 
ever ; and as Chansenets never spoke, I hegan 
to fear that our conductor would suspect us. I 
ordered Tiinr) to drive to the AU^es des Invahdes, 
on the Boulevards, as I thought of my friend 
the gardener, though with little hopes. It was 
now ten o'clock, and I was much afraid that we 
should meet the patrols. Luckily we arrived 
at the place where we were to take leave of our 
cahriolet friend. I could hardly get out, being 
in such a tremble ; but I cannot express what 
my feelings of alarm were when I saw him 
supporting Chansenets, and he not able to 
stand. I pretended to be in a great passion, 
and told the man that my servant was drunk. 
He said that he was sorry for it, but that he 
must go home, as he had no mind to be taken 
up for us. Accordingly he drove off; and 
Chansenets and I sat down for two minutes at 
the foot of one of the trees. The air soon re- 
vived him a httle, and he was able to stand. 


I expected every moment that we should be 
taken up ; and had that been the case we had 
not long to live, for we had little mercy to ex- 
pect. We turned up an avenue which led to my 
gardener's house, but at this moment we saw, 
with horror, the troops at the further end. of 
the avenue, and patrols coming our way. Mon- 
sieur Chansenets had been very iU ever since 
his fever; and being unable to support him, 
from weakness and agitation, arising from the 
certainty of our dangerous situation, I burst 
into tears. He, poor man, then entreated me 
to give him up to the first patrol, and by that 
means save my own Hfe; as he said he saw 
with horror the cruel situation into which he 
had brought me, and that we had now no 
chance of being saved. 

This idea was terrible to me. Had the 
scafibld been then before me, I could not have 
abandoned him, or anybody else in a similar 
situation. I soon began to feel more courage, 
and we turned round and crossed the Pont 
Neuf at the Palais Bourbon, and got to the 
Champs Ely sees. We were fortunate enough 


to avoid two patrols. When, however, we got 
there, I was as much at a loss as ever. What 
was to become of us ? It was jiearly eleven 
o'clock, and none but soldiers were to be seen 
about the streets. We could not remain long 
unnoticed where we were. I was very near 
my own house, which I could see from the 
Champs Elysees ; but I could not risk going 
there with my unfortunate companion. I might 
as well have given him up to the soldiers, 
as expose him to my cook. I could have 
depended on my own maid and porter, but I did 
not dare. I was much fatigued ; and Chan- 
senets was fainting. He once more entreated 
me to give him up, and to go to my comfort- 
able home. This I assured him I would never 
do ; that since I had undertaken to save him, 
I would do it, or perish with him. 

Ohansenets then asked me if I thought we 
coidd by any means get to the Duke of Or- 
leans' house at Monceau, and hide ourselves in 
the garden, Monceau being now inside the 
waUs of Paris, and not far from the spot 
where we then were. He thought that no 


domiciliary visits would be made there; that 
if the Duke knew it, he would say nothing on 
my account ; and he thought he remembered 
a place where we might get in without 
being seen. I did not like this plan, as I 
had known nothing of the Duke for some 
time, nor did I know where he was, and I 
always feared his servants; but this was our 
last and only resource. 

I could hardly get to Monceau by a private 
road without passing my own door, and cross- 
ing the fields. When we came to the end 
of the Eue Miromenil, where I lived, and of 
which one end went into the fields, and the 
other into the Champs Elys6es, we saw my 
servants sitting out at the gates, and amongst 
them my Jacobin cook. I was much alarmed 
at seeing this. However, there was a build- 
ing near my house not yet finished, and I 
persuaded Monsieur fle Chansenets to go 
into it, whilst I went to my own house to 
see what I cotdd do. He did so ; and I 
went up by myself to my servants, who were 
much alarmed at seeing me come thither alone 


and on foot, at so late an hour, nearly twelve 
o'clock at night, when they thought that I was 
in the country. I told them that I had heard 
at Meudon of the horrors which were going on 
in Paris ; that I could not rest in the coun- 
try ; and that I had taken a cahriolet, which 
brought me to the harriers, and that I had 
walked from there. They related to me all the 
murders which had been committed, and I sent 
for my cook into the room and told her that I 
had eaten nothing all day, that I was faint 
with hunger, and that if it cost ten louis I 
must have a roast fowl and salad. She assured 
me that nobody was allowed to go into the 
streets, that she should be taken up, and that 
nobody would sejl anything at such an hour. 
I told her that she must try, or I should 
turn her out of my house the next day. Just 
as she was going out of the room Monsieur 
Chansenets knocked a#t my gates. He had 
been frightened by seeing the patrols coming 
into the street, and hardly knew what he was 
doing. On his entering my room both myself 
and servants screamed. I pretended not to 


have seen Hm before, and agj^ed him how he 
could think of coining to my house at such an 
hour, and in such a dreadful moment. He un- 
derstood me, and said that he had been before 
the mayor, had been examined and acquitted ; 
that they had given him leave to go to his own 
house, which was at Monceau, near that of the 
Duke of Orleans. My cook told him that the 
scaffold had been ready all day for him, and that 
a reward was offered to. take him, but that she 
would not do him any harm then, though she 
knew that he was a nasty aristocrat ; and she 
wondered at his coming to my house to expose 
me, and put them all in danger of being taken 
up as conspirators. 

I pretended to be very angry, and Chan- 
senets said that he would go directly. The cook 
then went out, as I ordered her, and I was left 
with my porter and his wife, my own servant 
being from home, as she was afraid that one of 
her sons was murdered. My porter, who was 
present, told me that I could not get out of the 
street to go to the Duke's, for the domiciliary 
visits had begun. In this dilemma we did not 


know what to do«witli this poor man. My cook 
I had managed to get rid of, but she might 
soon return. Monsieur Chansenets was almost 
in fits, and in a deplorable state from ex- 
treme weakness : in short, he could not sup- 
port himself. My porter thought that he 
might be hid between the mattresses of my 
bed, which were very large, and iu an alcove. 
We accordingly pulled two of the mattresses 
out further than the others, and made a space 
next the wall, and put him in. When he 
was there, we found that the bed looked 
tumbled, and of course suspicious. I then 
decided upon getting into bed myself, which 
prevented any appearance of a person being 
hid. I had aU my curfcaias festooned up ; my 
chandeliers and candelabra Hghted, which in 
all formed about twenty candles, as bed-rooms 
in Prance are much ornamented. My cook 
soon came home, and I made her sit by my 
bedside the rest of the night. She abused 
Monsieur Chansenets, and said that she was 
sure he would be guillotined; that she hoped 
I had turned him out directly : in short, she 


had not the most distant idea of his being in 
my house. 

My own attendant now came home from 
visiting her son. She was a good woman, and 
as faithful as possible, yet as she had not been 
there when Chansenets was hid, I thought 
that it was better not to tell her anything about 
it till after the domiciliary visit had been made. 
I had some warm negus by my bedside, and 
when my maid and the cook went out of the 
room to see what was going, on, I could just get 
at Chansenets to give him a teaspoonful of it. 
Indeed, I was frightened to death, for I heard 
him breathe hard, and thought that he was 
dying, and I expected every minute that my 
cook would hear him. In short, I passed a most 
miserable night, surrounded by my servants, and 
almost in fits myself at the idea of the horrid 
visit I was going to receive. I trembled so 
much, that I could hardly keep in bed, and the 
unfortunate man, who was the cause of my 
misery, I thought perhaps lay dead near me, 
for I could not hear him breathe at times. 

At a quarter before four o'clock my cook 


Inirried into my room, telling me that the 
guards had arrived in my court, and that the 
municipal officers were coming in. No pen or 
words can give the smallest idea of my feelings 
at that moment. I felt that I was lost, nor 
did I know where I was; but a very deep 
groan from my companion roused me in a 
moment, and God inspired me with more 
courage than I had ever felt in my Hfe. So 
strong was my abhorrence of the horrid acts 
which were being committed, that I am certain 
I could have mounted the scaffi)ld with pleasure. 
Had the guards come into my room at that 
moment, I might have lost both myself and 
Chansenets, for I was determined to brave 
every danger, and to give myself up to 
them. Fortunately they visited every part of 
my house before they came into my room, and 
pulled my maid's bed and aU the servants' 
beds to pieces, running their bayonets into the 
mattresses and feather-beds, swearing that 
they would not leave the house tUl they had 
found Chansenets. My maid and my cook, not 
knowing that he was in the house, were very 


bold and feared nothing; but the men said 
that he was seen to go into the house, and 
not go out. 

This long search gave me time to cool, 
and to consider my deplorable situation. Al- 
though my own life was of little value, still 
I had no reason to suppose that the unfor- 
tunate man near me did not value his. I 
therefore tbougbt that I had no right to commit 
any act of desperation, as the life of a feUow- 
creature depended on my conduct. These were, 
in truth,, my reflections when the ruffians 
burst with violence and horrid imprecations 
into my room. I was then perfectly calm, fiiD, 
of presence of mind, and indeed inspired 
with a courage equal to anything earthly. 
The candles were all a-light, day was break- 
ing, and my room looked more like a baU-room 
than a scene of the horrors which were passing. 
They came aU up to my bed, and asked me to 
get up. One of them, however, less hard than 
the others, said that there was no occasion to 
take me out of bed, as I could not dress before 
so many men. They were abowe forty. I said 


directly that I wotild get up with pleasure 
if they required me to do so, but that I had 
passed a very cruel night, and was tired of 
my bed. I had expected them, I said, at an 
earlier hour, and then had hoped to pass the 
rest of the night in quiet. I owned that I had 
been much alarmed at the idea of such a visit in 
the dead of the night, but that now I saw how 
considerate, kind, and good they were, I was 
not the least alarmed, and that if they pleased 
I would get up and conduct them about my 
house myself. I added, that I was sure they 
must be much fatigued, and proposed wine or 
liqueurs and cold pie to them. 

Some of the head men were delighted with 
me, cut some very indecent jokes, said that 
nobody they had seen the whole night had 
been half so civil ; that they were sorry they 
had not come sooner, in order that I might 
have had a good night when they were gone. 
They would not now make me get up, but 
were obHged to go on with their visit, and 
must search everywhere in my bed and under 
my bed. They,* however, only felt the top 


of my bed and at its feet, and then under the 
bed. They also undid all the sofa cushions, 
both in my room and into my boudoir and 
drawing-room, looked in my bathing-room ; 
and, in short, were an hour in and out of my 
room. I expected every moment that they 
would again search the bed, as some of them 
grumbled, and said that I should get up, and 
that they had information of Chansenets 
being in my house. I said that they knew my 
cook, and might ask her in what manner I 
had received him when he came, and that I 
made him leave the house directly. She as- 
sured them of the truth of this, and that she 
was certain I would not have harboured so great 
a foe of the Duke of Orleans. They said that we 
should have given him up to justice, and have 
sent to them to take him up, as it would have 
made their fortunes. I replied, though I disliked 
him, yet I did not like to denounce anybody. 
They declared that I was then a bad citoyenne, 
and wished to know where they could find him. 
I told them that he said he was going home. 
They replied that they did not believe he would 


do that ; but that if he was in Paris they would 
find him in twenty-four hours. They then 
came back to my bed, and one of them sat 
down on it. 

It may easily be supposed in what a state 
of alarm poor Chansenets was during this long 
visit. I had heard nothing of him, nor heard 
him breathe. At last the monsters advised 
me .to take some rest, and wished me good 
night. They stayed some time longer in my 
house, during which time I was afraid of 
moving. At last I heard the gates shut, and 
my servants came into my room and told me 
that they were all gone. I went into violent 
hysterics, and was very much frightened. When 
I recovered a little I desired my cook and other 
servants to -leave the room and go to bed, 
saying that I would take something, and go 
to rest myself. I directed my maid to bolt my 
room-doors, and then I disclosed to her what 
I had done, and who was in the bed. She 
screamed with dread when she heard it, and said 
that she never could have gone through the visit 
had she known it. 


We- now got our prisoner out of the bed 
with great difficulty, for when he heard the 
guards come into the room he had tried to 

' keep in his breath as inuch as possible, and 
having been so smothered he was as wet as 
if he had been in a bath, and speechless. We 
laid him on the ground, opened the windows, 
and my maid made him drink a large glass of 
brandy. At last he came to himself, was fall 
of gratitude to me.— had been both frightened 
and surprised at my courage when the men 
were in . the room, and the more so when I 
offered to get out of bed. 

I was very ill myself from the agitation I 
had been in for the last four-and-twenty hours. 

• "We contrived to make the bed in my boudoir 
for our guest, but were obliged to be very cau- 
tious for fear of my cook, as none of my ser- 
vants had gone to bed at so late an hour. We 
locked him in the room, and my maid took the 
key. I then went to bed, but had no rest, 
and rang my bell at two o'clock ; I was almost 
dead with agitation. However, I got up, and 
my maid went into our prisoner's room.. She 



found him in a high, fever and almost delirious, 
and crying ; in short, he was in a most dreadful 
state. We were distracted, for fear of a dis- 
covery : had he died, where could we have put 
him, or what could we have done ? 

We were considering aU this, when the Duke 
of Orleans came in. He was goiag to his 
house at Monceau, and seeing my gates open, 
had asked if I was in town. He was struck at 
my ill looks and seeming distress, and was 
anxious to know the cause of it. I told him the 
same story I had told my servants the night 
before, and then related to him the very horrid 
visit I had had in the night, and how much 
alarmed I had been. He assured me that if 
I had nobody hid in my house there was no 
need to have alarmed myself so much ; but if 
I had, I certainly was in a dangerous situation. 
I told him that I had not been fortunate 
enough to save anybody in the dreadfiil night ; 
that I wished that it had been in my power 
to do it even at the risk of my own life ; that 
I thought" the scenes of yesterday and this 
night were horrible ; and I hoped they would 


cure all the admirers of the abominable Eevo- 

The Duke replied that " they were indeed 
dreadful, but that in all revolutions much 
blood had been spilt, and that no stop could 
be put to it when once begun." He told 
me of the horrid murder of Madame de 
Lamballe— of their bringing her head to the 
Palais Eoyal whilst he was at dinner. He 
seemed much shocked at her fate, and said he 
had done everything in his power to save her. 
From what I afterwards heard I am certain 
that this was true, for at aU times I heard 
him express great affection for this unfortunate 
Princess. He stayed some time with me, was 
in very low spirits, said that " revolutions ought 
to be of great use, and better our children, for 
they were very dreadful for those who wit- 
nessed and felt them." 

I said that " I wished he had remained in 
England when he was there." He replied 
that "he should have liked it, but that they 
would not let him stay there ; that they taxed 
him with having left Prance through fear of 

H 2 


Lafayette, and of his having attempted the 
King's life." He added that " nothing could 
have kept him longer out of France when 
he heard such reports. By his presence he 
would show the world he had no fear of 
Lafayette ; that he had always been cruelly 
used by the Court ; that when he did anything 
with good intentions, they imputed it to a bad 
motive. He assured me he had always envied 
the life of an English country gentleman ; and 
that though his enemies taxed him with wish- 
ing to be king, he would willingly change his 
lot and all his fortune for a small estate in 
England, and the privileges of that delightful 
country, which he hoped to see once more." 
He asked me if "I thought him monster 
enough to be going through the streets of 
Paris on such a day as yesterday and to-day, 
and not feel unhappy." 

I then entreated him to get out of the hands 
of the vile people, who surrounded him, and 
not to let wretches make use of his name to 
commit such horrid acts. 

He replied " All this seems easy to do in 


your drawing-room : I wish that I could find 
it as easy, but I am in the torrent, and must 
rise or fall with it. I am no longer master 
of myself or of my name, and you can be 
no judge of my situation, which is, I assure 
you, not a pleasant one. Don't plague me any 
more ; don't talk in this style to your servants, 
nor indeed to anybody else. "We are aU sur- 
rounded by spies, and if you get yourself into 
a scrape I cannot save you ; so, for God's sake, 
keep your politics to yourself, and plague me 
no more on this subject ; it wiU^be of no use." 
I was half inclined to teU him about Chan- 
senets, but I would not do it till I heard from 
him whether he thought it safe, as the Duke 
disliked him much, and thought that he had 
been ungrateful to him after the Revolution, 
for the Duke had given him (Chansenets) one 
of his own regimeti'ts, though the Queen had 
begged it of the Duke for somebody else, and 
she was extremely angry about it. Indeed, no 
regiment of a prince of the blood had ever been 
given to a man of the same sort of rank as 
Chansenets ; they were always given to the old 


noblesse. WJaen the Eevolution broke out, 
Chansenets certainly behaved ill to the Dake, 
and had much displeased him. I was therefore 
more cautious of telling him on. that account, 
though I knew he might with safety be trusted 
without the least fear of his making an iU use 
of the confidence. 

The Duke said he " was sorry that I had come 
into Paris ; that he feared I should not get out 
of it for some days, as the barriers were ordered 
to be kept shut whilst the visits were being 
made in search of conspirators." I was distressed 
to hear this, being at a loss to know how to 
keep my unfortunate prisoner longer in my 
house in Paris, so many spies were about me. 
Besides, they might again make me a midnight 
visit. I therefore entreated the Duke to try 
through his interest to get me a passport ; but 
he assured me that " he had not interest enough 
to get one, and thought that as I had been 
foolish enough to come into Paris at such a 
moment, I had better stay quietly in my ovra 
house, and see nobody, and then go back to 
Meudon as soon as the barriers were opened. 


By pursuing this course nobody would take 
notice of me, but that if I seemed so eager to 
leave Paris, they might suspect something." 

He told me that the person who had the 
management of the barriers was Eobespierre, 
a man whom he hated, and who hated the 
English. The Duke then took leave of me, 
after staying about three hours. He assured 
me that he " would see me next morning 
before he went to the Convention, where he 
was obhged to be at twelve o'clock." He 
said he thought I was looking very iU, and 
wished me much to see his physician, whose 
name was Seifert. I refused however to see 

As soon as the Duke had left my house, I 
sent my maid into our prisoner's room, where 
he had been during the Duke's visit in great 
distress, having heard every word which passed. 
He said that he wondered " I had not told 
the truth ; that he seemed well-disposed' and 
good-natured ; and that perhaps had he known 
the dangerous situation I was in with him in 
my house, he would have found some means of 


getting me out of Paris by the town-wall, some 
part of wHcli is in Ms gardens." I assured 
Chansenets that I had only deceived the Duke 
from not thinking it fair to divulge a secret of 
such importance without first having his con- 
sent ; but as the Dute was coming the next 
morning I would then teU him the exact story. 
He said that he wished the Duke would see 
him ; for he could vindicate himself respecting 
his seeming ingratitude, — as never being able 
to leave the King, and being governor of the 
Tmleries, it had been out of his power to pay 
the Duke the proper attention he wished to do. 

The next morning, September the 4th, the 
Duke came to breakfast with me before eleven 
o'clock. He was very low-spirited. I enquired 
of him if any new horrors were going on ? He 
said that " he knew nothing ; that he was just 
come from Monceau ; but that he should hear 
•news at the Convention." 

I said that " I hoped the Eoyal Family were 
well, and that they were well used in the horrid 

He replied that " h6 believed and hoped that 


they were ; though he was sure that they would 
not be sorry for him, if he was in a worse situ- 

I asked him " how they could keep the poor 
King and his innocent family in confinement ?" 

He said, " Because when he was at liberty he 
was iU surrounded, and broke his word and oath 
to the nation." 

I then told the Duke in as quiet a manner as 
I could what I had done. He seemed much 
surprised, and assured me that " I should be 
found out ; that I was in great danger ; and 
that most certainly if Chansenets did not get 
by some means or other out of Paris, he would 
be taken, and that both he and I would be 

I then entreated him either to get Chan- 
senets out of Paris, or to suffer him to be hid 
in his house at Monceau. The Duke assured 
me that " such a plan was impossible ; that aU 
his servants were spies from the Jacobin Glub ; 
and that the part of the town-wall to which 
I alluded was surrounded by troops ; in short, 
that he saw no means of his getting away." 


He added that he was distressed and sorry for 
the scrape I had got into ; that I must be 
cautious, and trust nobody with the secret, but 
contrive to conceal him till the barriers were 
opened, and then get rid of him as fast as 
I could, though he really saw little chance of 
my being in any safety. 

He asked me "where I concealed him?" 
I said " in the roof of my house," as I did not 
wish the Duke to know that he had heard our 
conversation. He told me that " I had ex- 
posed my life for a very bad purpose, for that 
Chansenets was a good-for-nothing creature; 
that many better people had been taken up 
and executed; that he wished I had saved 
anybody else ; and that it would be cruel if I 
was to lose my Hfe for such a poor miserable 

I was sorry that Chansenets should hear 
aU this; however, I could not help it. The 
Duke inquired of me "whether Chansenets 
knew that he was to be let into this secret." 
I assured the Duke that I had told him by 
Chansenets' own desire ; that he. would give 


the world to see the Duke ; that he could 
explain his conduct ; and that he hoped and 
trusted for pardon, and that the Duke would 
put him in the way of saving his life. 

The Duke said that " it would be impos- 
sible ; that it would be very imprudent in him 
to see Chansenets ; for that some of my servants 
would know it." I assured him that he might 
see him without any creature knowing it but my 
maid, who he was aware was much attached to 
both himself and me. He did not seem to like 
it, and then looking at his watch, said that " he 
must go directly to the Convention ; that he 
was then nearly an hour too late ; that he left 
me with regret in such a dangerous situation ; 
wished I had been more prudent ; that he 
would see what he could do to get this man 
out of my house, but entreated me to keep my 
politics to myself. He wished to God I was 
safe in England, for he thought something 
woul^ happen to me here." On leaving he 
promised to see me the next day, and I ven- 
tured to • say, " And pray see Chansenets." 
He answered, " Nous verrons cela." 


When I weat in to Chansenets I found him 
as ill as possible. The manner in which the 
Duke had talked of him had alarmed him to a 
great degree, and he thought that he was gone 
to get him taken up. I assured him that 
he had nothing to fear on that ground ; that I 
thought the Duke would see him, and try 
to do something for him the next day. 

My maid was in Chansenets' room aU the 
rest of the day and the evening, trying to con- 
sole him. We were obliged to give him ether : 
at every knock he heard at the gates he thought 
it was the guards. When my servants were 
gone to bed, I went into his room, and told 
him that he had better make up his mind 
to see the Duke next morning, and desired 
him to be in my room when the Duke came 
in, as the Duke would then not fear his 
being seen ; that my own maid would watch 
the Duke's coming, and would announce him. 
With great difficulty he consented, obsejfving 
that as his Hfe was in my hands I might use 
it as I pleased. 

Chansenets then came into my room, and 


about ten minutes afterwards the Duke arrived. 
He started at seeing Chansenets, to whom 
he bowed, and desired him to sit down. Poor 
Chansenets trembled so much that he could 
hardly stand. The Dute perceived this, and 
turned to me, and talked of iny health. I 
was making tea, and when I had given the 
Duke his dish, he turned to Chansenets and 
said, " Cela ne vaut rien pour vous. You have 
been confined long and seem iU and weak ; a 
bouUlon would be better." Chansenets then 
said, " Monseigneur, you are all goodness. I 
have appeared very ungrateful to you : I wish 
to explain to your Highness why." 

The Duke replied very gravely, " Monsieur 
de Chansenets, no explanations. We will neither 
talk of the past, nor on any other subject ; but 
the situation of this good person who is trying 
to save your life at the expense of her own. 
She is in, and I fear both you and she are in a 
scrape. I would be of use to you on her account 
if I could, but I fear that it is impossible. 
You and I must forget that we ever met before, 
as we never can again be in the same room ; and 


I never wish to hear your name pronounced in 
my presence. My opinion of you has been 
fixed for some time. I am sorry that you can- 
not get away, as I shaU not be at peace tiH I 
see you out of her house." He then talked on 
indiierent subjects— no politics of any kind. 
At last he looked at his watch, and went away. 
I did not see him the next day, but I heard 
from him. In short, I kept Chansenets in my 
house, without any of my servants or my 
Jacobin cook knowing it, till the barriers were 
opened. The moment that was the case I took 
him to Meudon, which was a bad place for 
him, as he was also governor of the castle of 
Meudon, and well known to all the people 
about there. But my house stood quite alone, 
and except an old lady and gentleman, who 
were my only near neighbours, and who were 
staunch royalists, nobody but my maid knew 
that he was at Meudon, though the searches 
for him were still being continued in Paris, 
till somebody said that they saw him lying 
amongst the dead on the 10th of August. 
This I fancy cooled their further searching. 


I had more uneasiness, for I heard from the 
Duke that visits were going to be made at 
Meudon. At this time he sent me one of his 
old valets-de-chambre, who was a royalist, to 
deliver me a letter from him, telling me that . 
the mail-cart which stopped, at St. Denis, would, 
for fifty louis, take Chansenets to Boulogne, 
from whence he might soon get to England. 
The Duke also sent me a note for the master 
of the inn at St. Denis, called the Pavilion 
Royal. I did not tell Chansenets whence this 
information came, for he would have been 
alarmed, and would not have gone ; but I 
assured him that Meudon was dangerous, and 
that I could now get him to Boulogne. 

We accordingly went in a cabriolet, my old 
royalist neighbour and myself, to St. Denis, at 
three o'clock in the morning. The mail-cart 
came in an hour afterwards. We settled with 
the man, giving him his fifty louis, and I saw 
poor Chansenets, in a deplorable condition and 
much disguised, set off. There were other 
emigrants in the cart also. It was in January, 
and quite dark. 


Some years afterwards I heard that Chan- 
senets got safely to England, even before, I 
believe, the unfortunate King's death. After 
Chansenets' departure everything got worse 
and worse, and on the 21st of January the 
Parisians murdered their innocent King. 



The Murder of Louis XVI— The Duke of Orleans promises 
not to vote— Visit of the Duke of Orleans and the Duo de 
Biron to me— Conversation relative to the death of the 
King— The Duke of Orleans breaks his solemn promise- 
Anecdote of an attached Servant of the King— General 
Terror— My Illness ; the Duke sends to me— Anxious to 
get away to England— The Duke unable to assist me— I 
upbraid him for his conduct in voting for the King's Death 
—His Defence— The Countess de Perigord's horror for 
her situation; begs my aid to get away— Monsieur de 
Malesherbes — Another Domiciliary Visit — Madame de 
Perigord concealed in a Closet— Melancholy position of the 
Duke of Orleans— I am arrested. 

It was at this time that the Eepublicans 
began to talk of bringing the unfortunate 
King to trial ; but the idea seemed so mon- 
strous and infamous, that people could never 
imagine it possible they would dare to attempt 
such an act. However, everybody knows that 


that horrid crime was committed before the 
face of all France, and that the monsters 
carried their audacity and vengeance to the 
last extremity by bringing the most virtuous 
and best of kings to the scaffold, like a 
common criminal. 

I must here mention my unfortunate friend 
the Duke of Orleans, over whose conduct from 
that period I could wish to throw a veU, for 
nothing earthly can excuse it ; the more so as he 
had pledged himself to me in the most solemn 
manner that nothing should induce him to 
vote, unless it should be for the King's deli- 

Some days before the final decision as to 
the King's fate, the Due de Biron called on me 
in the morning, and said that he was come to 
have his fortune told. I used often to fool and 
play with the cards, and pretended to teU for- 
tunes. He was extremely superstitious, and 
really thought that I had told him some truths 
before he went to the axmy. I assured bim 
that " I wished both the Duke of Orleans and 
he had believed more firmly the things I told 


them ; for then the King would still have re- 
tained his crown, and they would have been 
surrounded with pleasure and comforts, instead 
of lurking about without dariag to have a house 
or a carriage to cover their heads. I told him 
moreover that the King's trial was the most 
abominable, cruel event ever heard of, and that 
I wondered some brave Chevalier Frangais did 
not go and set fire to the house in which the 
Convention sat, and burn the monsters who 
were in it, and try to dehver the King and 
Queen from the Temple. He told me that he 
felt unhappy at the King's trial, but that the 
worst which could happen to him would be 
seclusion till things were settled ; that certainly 
some would vote for his death ; but what gave 
him great comfort was, to be sure that the 
Duke of Orleans would not vote, as he had told 
him so. 

I had never then mentioned this subject to 
the Duke, therefore I told the Due de Biron 
that I wished the Duke of Orleans would 
vote for the King's deliverance. He assured 
me that he never would do that ; that we 



must content ourselves by his not voting at 
all ; as he feared, that if the King was sent 
out of France, he would engage the Powers to 
invade France, and that the Dvke and aU his 
friends would then he lost. 

I assured him that I would sooner see even 
such an event, than that the Duke of Orleans 
should disgrace himself by voting for the 
seclusion of the King, little then imagining 
what would happen. The Due de Biron 
said that he should Hke to meet the Duke of 
Orleans the next day at my house, as when he 
saw him at Madame de Buffon's he was always 
surrounded, and as he was to come in the 
course of the day, I appointed that it should 
be at two o'clock. 

It was on a Thursday, the 17th of January, 
1793, that they both came. I had seen little 
of the Duke of Orleans for some time before. 
On my asking him what he now thought of 
the wicked trial . which was going on, and 
saying " that I hoped he did not go near such 
vile miscreants?" He replied that "he was 
obliged to go, as he was a deputy." I said. 

Jrom. an Ori0i.7ia.lMln,!-cdz',re 




"How can you sit and see yoixr King and 
cousin brought before a set of blackguards, and 
that they should dare to insult him by asking 
him questions ? " adding that " I wished I had 
been at the Convention ; for I should have 
pulled off both my shoes, and have thrown 
them at the head of the President and of 
Santerre, for daring to insult their King and 

I was very warm on the subject. The Duke 
of Orleans seemed out of humour. The Due 
de Biron then asked him some questions about 
the trial. I 'could not help saying, " I hope, 
Monseigneur, that you will vote for the King's 
deliverance ?" " Certainly," he answered, " and 
for my own death." 

I saw that he was angry, and the Due de 
Biron said, "The Duke will not vote. The 
King has.used him very ill all his life ; but he 
is his cousin, therefore he will fejgn iUnesp and 
stay at home on Saturday, the day of the 
Appel Nominal, which is to decide on the 
King's fate." 

I said, " Then, Monseigneur, I am sure you 


will not go to the Convention on Saturday. 
Pray don't." 

He said that he certainly would not go ; 
that he never had intended to go ; and he gave 
me his sacred word of honour that he would 
not go ; that " though he thought the King 
had been guilty by forfeiting his word to the 
nation, yet nothing should induce him, being 
his relation, to vote against him." This I 
thought a poor consolation, but I could do 
no more, and the two dukes left me. 

I saw nobody on the Friday. Every one 
seemed anxious for the termination of this 
abominable trial, though few expected that it 
would end as it did. How could any creature, 
indeed, dare imagine that such a crime was 
hanging over France ? 

On the Saturday I received a note from the 
Due de Biron to beg me to come an^ pass the 
evening with Jiim and Madame Laurent and 
Dumouriez, at the Hotel St. Marc, Eue St. 
Marc, near the Eue de Eichelieu ; that there I 
should hear the news, and that he had great 
hopes things would be softened. At this time 


the Due de Biron had no house or home ; 
he had been denounced to the army by one 
of the revolutionary generals called Eossignol, 
who was a murderer of the 2nd of Sep- 
tember. The Due de Biron, who was then 
called Greneral Biron, had eome to Paris at this 
period to exculpate himself with the "W^ar 
Minister, and he lodged during, the short time 
he was there at this hdtel garnie. 

I went there at about half-past seven 
o'clock, and found the Due de Biron and the 
party there assembled very dismal. He had 
every half-hour a list sent him of the votes, 
and we all saw with agony that many had 
voted for the Bang's death. He also heard 
that, at eight o'clock, the Duke of Orleans had 
entered the Convention, which surprised us all. 
I feared much that he was going to vote for ' 
the seclusion, for I never thought of worse. 
However, every list was more and more alarm- 
ing, till at about ten o'clock the sad and fatal 
Hst arrived with the King's condemnation, and 
with the Duke of Orleans' dishonour. 

I never felt such horror for anybody in my 


life as I did at that moment at the Duke's 
conduct. We were all in deep affliction and 
tears ; even poor Biron, who, alas ! was a re- 
publican, was almost in a fit. A young man, 
who was the Duke's aide-de-camp, tore off 
his coat and flung it into the fire, saying that 
he should blush ever to wear it again. His 
name was Eutaux, and he was a native of 
Nancy. He was a noble, and a very good 
young man, who had not emigrated out of 
affection for poor Biron, though his heart was 
always with the Princes. When my carriage 
came, I went homej but every place now 
seemed dreary and bloody to me. My servants 
aU looked horror-struck. I did not dare sleep 
in my room alone. I desired my maid to 
watch with me all night, and we kept up a 
great hght and prayed. I could not sleep. 
The image of the innocent King was constantly 
before me. I don't think that it was possible 
to have felt even a family calamity more than 
I did the Bang's death. Till that moment I 
had always flattered myself that the Duke of 
Orleans was misled, and saw things in a wrong 


light ; now, however, all that illusion was 
over. I even threw the things he had given 
me which I had in my pockets and in my room 
out of it, not daring to stay near anything 
that had been his. 

Such at that moment was the vexation that 
I felt about a person for whom some time be- 
fore I would have given my hfe. Nobody can 
•have an idea of my sufferings ; but, indeed, every 
honest person in Paris felt, I beUeve, as much 
as I did. 

The next day, Sunday, I heard that the fish- 
women were to go in a body to the Convention, 
or to the H6tel de Ville, to insist on the King's 
deliverance, as he was to be executed on the 
Monday. However, the monsters caused a pro- 
clamation to be read in the streets, declaring that 
if any women were found abroad on the Monday 
they would be outlawed, and might be fired on. 

I now determined not to remain in Paris 
another hour, and getting a passport from my 
Section, I went with my own maid to my 
house at Meudon, that I might not breathe the 
same air as the King's murderers. 


On the 21st, Monday moming, I hoped 
every instant to hear that the Parisians had 
risen, and deHvered the King. Just at ten o'clock 
I heard a cannon go off. This I hoped was 
some tumult in the King's favour ; but, alas ! 
that was the moment when his august head 

Meudon is on a mountain, and with a 
glass I could have seen the Place Louis Quinze; 
where this horrid murder was committed. I 
went out on the mountain to try and meet 
with somebody who had come from Paris, and 
who could teU me the King's fate. At last, 
about twelve o'clock I observed a man coming 
along the road, with a handkerchief in his 
hand steeped in blood. I knew the man : he 
had been one of the King's workmen, belong- 
ing to the Palace of Meudon, and much at- 
tached to his royal master. He related to me 
the dreadful event. He had gone, he said, 
to Paris, in hopes of being of use, had any 
attempt been made to rescue the Kitig. He 
was under the scaffold, and puUed the hand- 
kerchief off his neqk, dipping it in the King's 


blood as " a relic of St. Lotiis the Sixteenth." 
These were the man's own words. He gave me 
a small bit of it, and died about two months 
afterwards of grief, with the bloody hand- 
kerchief on his heart. Several of the game- 
keepers of the park of Meudon, who used 
to go a-shooting with the Kiag, also died of 

The King was shooting at Meudon on the 
5th October, when the mob went to force him 
to go to Paris. This was the last amusement 
which his Majesty took. 

The day of the King's death was the most 
dreary day I ever saw. The clouds even 
seemed to mourn. Nobody dared appear, or at 
least look at each other. The cruel Jacobins 
themselves seemed to fear each other's reproach. 
I was shut up all day. I heard nothing from 
Paris, nor did I wish to hear. I dreaded the 
idea of ever going there again. 

From that period everything bespoke terror. 
Robespierre became all powerful. People did 
not dare to speak above their breath. Two 
people, the most intimate, would not have dared 


to stop and speak. In short, even in your own 
rooms you felt frightened. If you laughed, you 
were accused of joy at some bad news the repub- 
lic had had ; if you cried, they said that you re- 
gretted their success. In short, they were send- 
ing soldiers every hour to search houses for 
papers of conspiracies. These soldiers gene- 
rally robbed people, or made them give them 
money, threatening them in case of refusal to 
denounce them. 

I wished to remain quiet at Meudon, but 
was soon found out, and never having been in 
favour with the republicans, they annoyed me 
in every way possible. They denounced me at 
the Jacobin club at Sevres ; said that I had hid 
Chansenets, and other emigrants ; that I had 
flour hid in my house ; and that I had entered 
into a conspiracy to get the Queen out of the 
Temple. In short, I hardly ever slept a night 
undisturbed by visits from the municipalities, 
not of Meudon, for they were kind to me, but 
of Sevres and of YersaiUes, which were horrid. 
About six weeks after the King's death I was 
taken very ill, and was obliged to send to Paris 


for a physician. He was a Dr. Leroy, who 
had been one of the Court physicians. 

The doctor had mentioned in Paris my being 
extremely ill; in consequence of which the 
Duke of Orleans sent an old and faithful 
valet-de-chambre of his, (who was a good roy- 
alist) to see me, with a very affectionate letter 
regretting that " he did not dare to come to 
me, but entreating me to see him when I 
was well, saying that all *the world had given 
him up, and that he thought his unhappy 
situation would have made me forgive him, if I 
thought he had done wrong." In short, the 
Duke sent every day from Paris to Meudon to 
inquire after my health, and was kind and 
attentive to me. As at that moment I wished 
to get a passport to return to England, and 
thought that nobody could get me one but 
him, I fixed a day to go to him at the Palais 
Eoyal, intending to return to the country 
at night. Accordingly I went, and found 
the Duke's antechamber fuU of officers and 
* generals ; in short quite a levee. Eomain, the 
Duke's good old valet-de-chambre, took me 


up to what was called hs petits appartemeins. I 
was very mucli affected and agitated at the idea 
of seeing the Duke, as I had not seen him since 
he gave that horrid vote. Eomain and I wept 
much both of us at the idea of the Duke's 
present situation. The poor old man loved the 
Duke hke his own child, and had been in his 
service since the day the Duke was born at St. 
Cloud. He little expected ever to see him what 
he then was. 

The Duke came up when I had been there 
about an hour waiting. He was dressed in 
deep mourning, looked embarrassed and very 
grave. I was nearly fainting, and he made me 
sit down, and himself gave me a glass of water. 
" You look ill," he said, " but I hope you are 
quite recovered from your cold ?" I told him 
that his black coat made me remember terrible 
events, and that I supposed he was, as I was, 
in mourning for the King. On this he forced 
a smile ; and said, " Oh, no ; I am in mourning 
for my father-in-law the Due de Penthievre." 
" I suppose," I said, " that the King's death 
has hastened hie ; or perhaps the manner of 


his cruel trial, and yotir having voted for 
death ?" Here I burst out into tears, and 
said, " I dare say that he died broken-hearted, 
and so shall I ; but you, Monseigneur, will die, 
like the poor King, on the scaffold." 

" Good God !" said he, " what a situation 
you are in ! I am sure I should not have made 
you come here, had I had an idea of all this. 
The King has been tried, and he is no more. 
I could not prevent his death." I then repUed, 
" But you promised that you would not vote." 

On this he got up, observing, "This is an 
unpleasant subject. You cannot — must not 
judge for me. I know my own situation. I 
could not avoid doing what I have done. I am 
perhaps more to be pitied than you can form 
an idea of. I am more a slave of faction than 
anybody in Trance ; but from this instant let 
us drop the subject. Things are at their worst. 
I wish you were safe in England, but how to 
get you out of France is what I cannot contrive. 
If money can procure you a passport I will 
give five hundred pounds. This is my last 
resource for you. ' The rulers like money, and 


I have hopes for you. I will do what I can with 
some of the leaders, but Robespierre, to whom 
I never speak, is aU powerful." 

The Duke wished me to make breakfast, and I 
drank some tea, but felt so very uncomfortable 
that I could say nothing to him, but about 
the horrors of the Revolution, a subject which 
did not seem to please him. He asked me if 
" I was going back to the country to dinner ?" 
I told him that I was going to dine at my 
own house, and to order fires to be lighted for 
some days ; that I should not stay at Meudon, 
because the Sections of Versailles and Sevres 
used me very ill. He said that if that was the 
case, I had better come to Paris, though he 
feared that the Section in which I lived was 
also very bad, and woidd plague me. He told 
me that people said I had been very imprudent 
during the Revolution; and he entreated me 
not to talk or tell people what I thought, or 
to say that I was in mourning for the King ; 
adding, "If you like to wear mourning for 
him, in God's name wear it, but say that it is- 
for some of your relations, or you will get into 


a scrape, and I should never be able to get you 
out of it. I wisb that you could have re- 
mained in the country, till you could obtain 
a passport for England. I wish that / had 
never left it, but now I can never see it 

I then took leave of the Duke, and went to 
my house in the Fauxbourg St. Honor4 telling 
them that I should return to Paris on the 
Sunday following, which I did. 

I passed over the Place Louis Quinze on my 
road home to Meudon, and felt a shivering all 
over when I saw the spot where the unfortu- 
nate King's head had fallen. Paris was then 
indeed dreary ; no carriages were to be seen in 
the streets but mine and two or three more. 
Everybody seemed afraid. No visits were paid 
or received. The playhouses were filled with 
none but Jacobins and the lowest set of com- 
mon women. The deputies were in all the best 
boxes, with infamous women in red caps and 
dressed as figures of Liberty. In short, Paris 
was a scene of filth and riot, and the honest, 
sober part of the inhabitants were afraid of 



being seen or even dressed with common 

When I returned to Meudon, I found a note 
from Madame la Comtesse de Perigord^ wife to 
Aj:chambeau de Perigord, to say that she 
should take it as a great favour if I would see 
her ; that she was much harassed ; and that she 
had no hopes but in me, in whom she had the 
greatest confidence. I have her letter now be- 
fore me. I wrote to her and appointed her to 
come to me on the Monday foUowing at my house 
in Paris. "When I saw her, she told me that she 
was the most miserable woman on earth; that 
her Section had found out that her husband had 
been hid in Paris ; and that she did not know 
what would become of her and her children. 
She thought that I might be able to get her, 
through the Duke of Orleans, the means of 
making her escape. She said that she wished 
to go to England ; and that her aunt, Madame 
de Sennason, and her uncle, the venerable and 
virtuous Malesherbes, were miserable about 
her situation. She declared that she was terror- 
stricken; that she must and would fly, or 


destroy herself, for she could exist no longer. 
She said that being so very rich, they certainly 
would murder her ; that she had jewels and 
some ready money, and that she would try 
to get to England, where her husband and 
eldest son then were. She went down on her 
knees to me, begging me to see and entreat the 
Duke of Orleans to assist her ; for she thought 
him all-powerfcd. I informed her what he 
had told me about my passport. She then was 
in despair ; roUed herself on my carpet, and 
I really feared that she had lost her senses. 

She stayed with me some time ; and when 
it was dark I, with my own maid, conducted 
her to her aunt Madame de Sennason's house 
at the Porte St. Honore, which was not far 
from me ; and there I had the happiness of 
sitting two hours with the poor King's friend 
Monsieur de Malesherbes, and of hearing from 
himself an account of his last interview with 
the unfortunate Monarch. I was even blessed 
by Monsieur de Malesherbes, and he pressed 
me to his breast, praying God to bless me, and 
protect me !- Poor man, I never saw him again ! 

K 2 


He was too good to be spared long by Eobes- 
pierre, tbougb be was long in prison. 

I now sent to tbe Duke of Orleans request- 
ing him to come to me tbe next day about 
my passport. He replied to me by teUiag 
me that " I must not now think of it ; that 
he had done everything in his power, but bad 
been desired by a person in power to advise 
me not to ask for it, or talk of England at 
that moment, but to bear my misfortuaes like 
other people, and to keep very quiet." The 
Duke desired me to give Madame de Perigord 
the same advice ; but she would not take 
it, and indeed she lost herself by not fol- 
lowing that advice. The Countess de Jarnac 
called on me that same afternoon, and told me 
that she came from Madame de Perigord, who 
was at her house, which was near mine, quite 
distracted, and determined to get out of Paris 
at aU events, and that she would see me, but 
Madame de Jarnac had prevented her coming, 
for fear that she should expose herself to my 
servants. I returned with her to her house, 
and there we found Madame de Perigord, who 


was determined not to sleep in Paris that 
night, even if she slept in the fields. 

I forgot to mention that a domiciliary visit 
was to be made that night, which had frightened 
her. She entreated me to take her and her 
children, a boy and a girl (now Madame Juste 
de Noailles), to my honse at Meudon, only 
for that night. I had an old woman there who 
kept my house while I was away, and on 
whom I could depend. Ordering my carriage, 
therefore, directly, I, Madame de Perigord, and 
the children went to Meudon, where I left 
her as comfortable as was possible at such a 
moment. As the people of my Section knew 
that I was in Paris, they might have sus- 
pected something had I gone away and not 
slept in my own house, the more so as there 
was to be a domiciliary visit. During that visit 
I was not at all frightened. I had then got 
used to it, and had nobody hid in my bed ; 
therefore I was not very civil to the intruders. 
I had promised Madame de Perigord to go to 
her the next day. Madame de Jarnac told me, 
that if Madame de Perigord would come back 


to Paris, a person whom she knew was going to 
Calais, and would manage, with a false passpoi:t, 
to get her there. I did not approve of this 
scheme ; hut I brought Madame de- Perigord 
and her children back to Paris, and kept her 
and them in my house for ten days or more. 

This was, I think, in March, near the time 
when Dumouriez went out of France, accom- 
panied by the Duke de Chartres, son of the 
Duke of Orleans. The Duke de Chartres, on 
his emigration, wrote his father a most harsh 
letter, which his father never forgave till the 
day of his death. His son upbraided him 
much with the King's death ; I perfectly re- 
member the letter, for I had it two days in 
my possession. The Duke burnt it in my 
room, the last time in his Hfe that he came 
to my house. On this occasion he came ac- 
companied by two gensd'armes in his coach. 
I was much shocked and surprised to see him 
in such a situation, but he laughed, sajdug 
that it was only because his son, the Duke 
de Chartres, had gone off with Dumouriez, 
and that he owed that obligation to him. The 


guards stayed in my antechamber. The Duke 
asked me if I would give him a breakfast on 
the Sxmday, when he hoped to come with less 
suite. I said that I would. He observed that 
as nothing now was certain, and that as his 
fate was more uncertain than that of anybody 
else, he did not feel at his ease about the money 
I possessed, which I had placed on his estates. 
He thought, iu case of his death, he could make 
an arrangement for me which w®uld secure 
the payment of my annuities in England ; that 
he would arrange all the business and give me 
effects, which would be money to me when I 
could get to England. He assured me that I 
should be far from beiug a loser, and that if 
they paid his creditors after his death so much 
the better, for I should then be so much the 
richer. I own that it gave me pain to hear 
him talk so, as, indeed, I expected his fall every 

He then went away, Madame de Perigord 
was in my house aH this time ; but she slept in 
my own maid's room up-stairs. She and I were 
sitting by the fire, talking about what had just 


passed, when my maid bounced into the room 
and said, "Madame, une visits des gardes I" 
Madame de Perigord had only time to get into 
a closet, where we had before taken the shelves 
out for that purpose, when forty men came into 
my room. They stated that they came to in- 
spect all my papers ; and that I must give them 
my keys. It was twelve o'clock at night. I was 
frightened lest my friend should cough; but 
knew that the men could not find the closet, as 
it was between the two doors, and covered with 
paper, so that there was no keyhole, and the 
person who was in it could fasten the door on 
the inside. 

I assisted them to search my papers; and 
those which were EngHsh they packed up. At 
last they found a sealed letter, directed to 
Charles Fox. Sir Godfrey Webster, who was 
then at Naples, had sent it to me by a French 
courier who came to Paris from Admiral La- 
touche Freville, who had been before Naples to 
make a manifesto in the name of the French 
nation. I knew very little of Sir Godfrey 
Webster ; but he thought that I could get this 


letter sent to England. The people who made 
the visit to my house were ignorant men, who 
had heard of Mr. Pitt and Mr. Pox, but did not 
know anything of their politics. They thought 
that I should be sent the next day to the guil- 
lotine ; and they were enchanted at the dis- 
covery they had made. They told me that 
they had long suspected me, but that now 
they had foimd out that I was in correspond- 
ence with the enemies of the EepubKc, and 
that I should pay dearly for it. I assured 
them that Mr. Fox was their friend; that 
he was in correspondence with the Comite de 
Surveillance, which was then their great tri- 
bunal. They stated that they had orders to put 
me. imder arrest that night ; and they put their 
echarpes over their shoulders, and arrested 
me in the name of the Eepubhque Franyaise. 
They took aU the papers they pleased, and 
hardly allowed me time to put a shawl over 
my shoulders, though it was very cold; and 
put the seals on my cabinets. 

It may easily be conceived what poor Ma- 
dame de Perigord must have suffered during 


this night. She thought that they would have 
put the seals on my room-doors ; and, though 
my maid was to remain in my house, yet it 
was death to break a seal put on by them. It 
happened, however, that they were so pleased 
at getting me out of my own house, and lead- 
ing me, as they thought, to the scaffold, that 
they left my house vnthout seals. On the 
next day I heard, vdth pleasure, that Madame 
de Perigord got safely that night to Madame 
de Jarnac's. 



Taken to the Guard-room, where I pass the night — Walked 
between Soldiers to the Mairie to be examined — The 
Duchesse de Grammont and the Duchesse dn Chatelet before 
the Mairie also — Their miserable Pate — Frightful Scenes 
at the Feuillants — ^Encounter the Duke of Orleans there — 
My examination and alarm — Brutality of Chabot, the 
Capuchin— Civility of Vergniaud — Letter of Sir Godfrey 
Webster — I am allowed to depart, but stopped by Chabot 
— The Duke of Orleans arrested, with the Comte de Beau- 
jolais — Affecting Scene between the Due de Biron and 
the Comte de Montpensier — The Duo de Biron sent to St. 
Pelagic — Madame de Perigord leaves her Children vidth me 
— I am sent to St. Pelagie — Meet Madame Du Barri — ^Her 
Violence at her Execution — Fatal Letter of Mr. Vernon — I 
am released. 

It was two o'clock when we entered tlie 
guard-room where they took me. The soldiers 
were lying asleep ahout the room; some drunk, 
others drinking, smoking, and swearing. There 
were some other miserable prisoners Hke myself, 
none of whom I knew; nor was there any 


other woman in the place. They gave me a 
seat on a bench near the fire, and offered me 
wine, saying, that I must not be proud ; that 
there were now no more dukes or princes; 
that they were all good citizens ; and that if I 
had not been a conspirator I should have been 
a good and happy citoyenne ; but that I was 
now going to dance the Carmagnole in the 
Place Louis Quinze. I assured them that I was 
in no fear of that ; for if they had nothing to 
accuse me of but that letter to Mr. Fox, I was 
sure of being acquitted. I told them that I 
wished they would break the seal and read 
the letter, for they would then find that it 
was not a letter to a foe of liberty, but to a 
great patriot; and that they might break 
open the letter, though I would not and 
could not, as it was merely sent to me to try 
and get it to England. 

I remained the whole night in this miserable 
place, without anything but the bare walls to 
lean my back against. They took no further 
notice of me during the night. About six 
o'clock in the morning, my maid and one of my 


men-servants brought me a basin of tea and 
some bread, my house being in the next street 
to the section-house. I was fatigued to death, 
and had a violent headache from the constant 
smell of wine and tobacco I had been exposed 
to aU night. The members of the ComitS 
BevoLutionnaire of my Section, who had come to 
my house with the guards to arrest me, were 
various tradesmen, and the president was a bar- 
ber, who had been a zealous actor in the prisons 
on the 2nd of September, and of course was 
a monster. When they had conducted me to 
the Corps de Grarde, they went home to their 
beds, and left me with the soldiers. 

About eight o'clock in the morning they all 
returned to conduct me to the Mairie, where 
the state prisoners were examined. This 
place was close to the Paldis de Justice, which 
was at the farther end of what is called the Cite, 
on the other side of the water from where I 
lived. They had the cruelty to make me walk 
in the middle of the soldiers, and the streets 
were dirty. When we got there we found the 
room ftiU of prisoners, like myself, waiting their 


turn to be examined. I am sure that there 
were at least two hundred — a great many 
women, and most of them of high rank. 
During the whole time I was there, which was 
thirty hours, I was close to the poor Duchesse 
de Grrammontand the Duchesse du Chatelet. I 
believe that there were not ten chairs in the 
room, and the women were fainting from fatigue. 
The Duchesse de Grammont was very bulky, 
and her legs were terribly swollen. 

A young aide-de-camp of the Commander 
of Paris, whose sister used to wash my laces, 
saw me, and pressed through the crowd to give 
me a chair. Seeing Madame de Grrammont 
and Madame du Chatelet, who were older than 
myself, I was, of course, happy to offer it to 
them. They made many compliments about 
taking it, and Madame de Grrammont said, 
*' Pray, madame, teU me who you are, that if 
ever we get out of this place we may meet 
again, for I see that you are also persecuted for 
the good cause." I told her ; and she was good 
enough to assure me, that she was enchanted to 
have an opportunity of seeing a person who 


liad been so staunch to the cause, and who had 
rendered it such services. She knew all that I 
had done for Chansenets, and for her cousin, 
Madame de Perigord. The Abbe de Damas 
had often told her, she said, of all I had done, 
and that she had long known the good advice 
I had given to an unfortunate Prince. She 
hoped to God that the monsters would spare 
me long, as she was sure that I still might be 
of use to the unfortunate. In short, from nine 
o'clock in the morning of Friday till twelve 
o'clock on Saturday morning, did I again re- 
main on my legs, except for about five minutes 
now and then when these ladies pulled me on 
their knees, but I was so much afraid of hurt- 
ing them that it was no ease to me. 

There was a huffet at the end of the room 
where we could have anything to eat or drink 
we Kked, on paying for it ; but few who were 
there thought much of nourishment. Their 
situation was too dangerous, and they had 
very little hopes of ever again returning to their 
own houses. By talking in a low voice we could 
say anything, for the room was too full even to 


have guards in it ; so they were stationed at the 
different doors. I saw many people whom I 
knew, and many gentlemen and ladies of high 
rank, but I was not so near them as I was to the 
two old countesses. They both perished some 
time afterwards on the scaffold. They were 
imprisoned at Porte Eoyale, and I was at the- 
Carmes. Madame de Grammont was examined 
about four o'clock in the morning, and they 
treated her harshly, but let her return to her 
own house again for some time. They did the 
same to Madame du Chatelet. At twelve 
o'clock on Saturday they took me to the mayor, 
I think his name was Chambronne. He went 
in the coach with the King when he was mur- 
dered. When the people of my Section -told 
him of the cause of my arrest, and showed him 
the letter, he said that he could say nothing 
to me ; that my case must go before the Comite 
of Surveillance, then sitting at the FeuiUants, 
near the Convention; and that mine was a 
grave business. 

I then was marched again in the same 
manner back to the Feuillants, in the Tuileries 


gardens, where I saw, while I waited, most 
dreadful scenes — ^poor men and women coming 
out of the Comity in tears, papers having 
been found upon them j every one whom I saw 
was ordered for imprisonment, and to be tried by 
the horrid Tribunal Rewlutionnaire. I really 
felt alarmed at my own situation, as I had no 
idea what the contents of Sir Godfrey Web- 
ster's letter to Mr. Fox might be, nor had I 
any idea of his poHtics. They did not keep 
ine long, however, as they had been in a private 
comite for some time examining a prisoner. 
When the door opened, who should come out, 
attended by guards, but the Duke of Orleans ! 
He saw me, and seemed hurt. " Mon Dieu !" 
said he, " are you here ? I am very sorry indeed." 

He then went out, and one of my guards told 
me that the Duke got into his. coach, but did 
not go to prison. 

When I went into this awful room, the mem- 
bers, who were Vergniaud, Guadet, Osselin, and 
Chabot the Capuchin, all sat along a green 
table, and a chair was placed facing them. There 
were at least forty present. I have only named 



those I can remember. The chair was very 
high up steps. I felt much frightened as I 
moimted the steps. They began by asking 
the people of my Section what was my crime, 
and why I had been arrested? They then 
told the story and produced the letter. Chabot 
asked me what were the contents of the letter ? 
I assured him that I was ignorant of them ; at 
which Chabot said, " It is a conspiracy. I know 
this woman ; she is a royalist. She has been 
intriguing in England to make D'Orleans' 
daughter marry an English prince. Send her 
to La Force." 

Vergniaud, who was eivU, said, " I don't see 
why this woman should have been arrested, 
because a letter directed to Mr. Fox was 
found in her house. Had it been directed 
to the monster Pitt, you could have done 
no more. Mr. Fox is our friend; he is 
the friend of a free nation; he loves our 
Revolution, and we have it here, under his own 
hand-writing; therefore can we with honour 
break open and read a private letter directed to 
that great man ? No ! it shall not be ; we 


will keep the letter, and send it safely to Mr. 

They began to be very warm, and Ohabot 
insisted on the letter being opened and read. 
OsseHn accordingly opened it, and they found 
that it was in English. As they had no inter- 
preter they were much at a loss, as he was gone 
to examine some English papers in the Eaux- 
bourg St. Germain. Ossehn, who was president, 
made me leave the chair, and come to his side 
and read the letter and interpret it to them. 
They said that some of them understood Eng- 
lish enough to know whether I told them the 

In the first place, Sir Godfrey Webster had 
enclosed in this letter a printed paper in French, 
which was Latouche Freville's manifesto to the 
King of Naples. I then proceeded to read his 
letter to Fox. It was ftiU of praise and ad- 
miration of the courage and energy of the 
French nation, and also of high admiration of 
the manifesto. In short, the letter greatly 
delighted them. 

As the interpreter came in, and read it as I 



had done, they were all in good humour with 
me except Chabot. Osselin wanted to conduct 
me home in one of the coaches belonging to 
the Comite, for they had aU coaches. This I 
declined. I told them of the two cruel nights 
I had passed, and they were very angry with 
the people of my Section. However, I noticed 
Chabot in conversation with the barber ; and 
when I was about to leave the room, and 
Osselin was giving me his arm, Chabot said 
softly, "Citoyenne, I have some more ques- 
tions to ask you. Do you know D'Orleans or 
EgaliUr I said,. "Yes." "Had you not 
some conversation with him in the outer room 
before you came inhere?" I said, " I merely 
asked him, how are you ?" " And pray what 
did he say ?" I told them that he said " Mon 
Dieu ! I am sorry to see you here indeed !" 
Chabot said, " Then it is plain that he thought 
and feared that you were to be examined on 
his account, and that he was alarmed lest you 
should betray him." 

I now became very much alarmed and hurt, 
and burst into tears. He said, " We don't mind 


tears. I wish that we had all those which had 
been shed in this room — ^they would supply aU 
the houses in Paris with water. ' ' He then went 
on, " Don't you know that D'Orleans wanted 
to be king, and destroy the republic ?" I said, 
" I aA sure that he never did." He said, " You 
know that he did: he voted for the King's 
death for that purpose." I said, " I wish from 
my soul that he never had done so ; he might 
now be happy." " Why then did he do it ?" 
" Because you all forced him to commit that 
dreadful sin." " So you think that it was 
a sin ? Tou are very impudent to say so 
here ; for we are fifty members in this room, 
and we aU voted the death of the tyrant Capet, 
but not to be kings ourselves, but only to rid 
the world of that horrid race. And now 
we will see what we can do for this would-be- 
king, who was always turning to that gulf of 
liberty, England, where he is now in corre- 
spondence, and so are you. I shall not let 
you escape. Send her to La Force ; she must 
go to the Tribunal ; let us settle this." 

About twenty of the members then got up, 


and said that this was not right ; that they 
must take more information respecting me ; 
that I should have leave to return home; 
that if I was a friend of Fox, I could not 
be a conspirator. In short, they were in a 
dreadful uproar about me, when Eobespierre 
came into the room. He seemed much occu- 
pied about some event of importance, and 
I was dismissed tOl farther orders. 

I returned home and went to bed, though it 
was not more than four o'clock. At eight 
o'clock the Duk« of Orleans sent to my house, 
to say that he would come and see me the next 
day, Sunday, at twelve b'cl6ck. When I woke 
they gave me his note. I answered it, and 
begged that he would not come, as I wanted to 
go to Meudon early in the morning ; but that I 
should return at night, and should be glad to 
see him. I told my servant to take it to the 
Palais Eoyal at eight o'clock in the morning. 
My servant returned directly afterwards, and 
brought me back my note. He informed me 
that the Duke had been arrested in his bed at 
four o'clock in the morning, and taken with- 


out servants or anybody but his son the 
Comte de Beaujolais, a boy of eleven years of 
age, to the prison of the Abbaye ; and that his 
servants were gone to the Comite of Sur- 
veillance to try and get leave to attend him 
there. They allowed him his valet-de-chambre, 
Mongot, for that day, and a footman for the 

This event much shocked me, as the end was 
now too plain. Mongot came to me on the 
Monday about two o'clock, and told me that 
they had kept him all night in a cell, and that 
at three o'clock he heard a carriage with post- 
horses drive out of the prison-yard. He sus- 
pected that it was the Duke whom they were 
carrying away, as they had confined him. Aljout 
ten o'clock in the morning they set him at 
liberty, and told him that his master was gone 
where he never couM see him again. They 
had been to the Palais Eoyal to get his travel- 
ling-carriage at twelve o'clock the night before. 
He had eight post-horses and sixty gensd'arines 
to escort him to Mairseilles, for it was there they 
took him and the little Comte de Beaujolais. 


They confined them in the Fort St. Jean, 
quite at the bottom, where he, I understood, 
was very ill-used. I never saw him after- 
wards. When he was brcwight back to Paris 
to be tried and executed, I was. my self a mise- 
rable prisoner. 

Monsieur le Due de Montpensier was then at 
Nice, aide-de-camp to the Due de Biron, who 
commanded that army. An order had been 
sent directing poor Biron to arrest the young 
Prince, and to send him with a strong escort to 
the Port of Marseilles. This was a cruel task 
for him to perform against the son of his old 
friend, and against a young man whom he 
loved as his own child. They were .just going 
to .^it down to dinner at the moment when 
the order came. The Due de Biron was so 
much affected when he saw the order that he 
shed tears, turned pale, and could of course 
eat no dinner. He looked very sadly at the 
Due de Montpensier, and the young man flew 
to him, saying, " General, is my poor father 
murdered? you look at me so moumfally, 
And are so much affected. I am sure it is true. 


Tell me, in the name of God, the worst !" The 
Duke then took the young Prince in his arms, 
and showed him the cruel order. In great joy, 
he said, " Is that all ? Good Grod ! how my 
mind is eased ! I thought that my father was 
no more. Let me go directly ; I shall try to 
amuse him in his captivity." 

This anecdote the Due de Biron told me 
soon afterwards, when we were both prisoners 
in St. Pelagic. 

About ten days after the Duke of Orleans had 
been sent to Marseilles, the Due de Biron was 
sent to St. Pelagie from Nice, under an escort. 
He never left that prison till he went to the 
Tribunal Revolutionncdre, and thence to the 
scaffold. He suffered death aibout ten days 
after the Duke of Orleans. 

On the Monday morning on which the Duke 
was sent to Marseilles, Madame de Perigord 
came to me with her son andi^aughter Me- 
lanie, the latter about nine years old. She is 
now Madame de NoaOles. Her son was about 
five years old. Madame de Perigord told me 
that she was going off in the night with a 


friend of Madame de Jamac for Calais; and 
that her aunt, and her uncle, Monsieur de 
Malesherbes, had been arrested that morning. 
She declared that she would not stay, but 
would leave her two children in France ; that 
she had brought them to me, as I was the only 
person in the world to whom she would intrust 
them. She entreated me to adopt them as 
my own. She then put the two children in 
my arms, and we had a very affecting scene. 
She soon afterwards took her last leave of them 
and me, and returned to Madame de Jamac, 
whence she went to Calais. 

Six weeks after having these dear children 
under my protection, I was sitting hearing 
Melanie read, when the members of the Comite 
Revolutionnaire of my Section came into my 
room, and told me that now I really was going 
in good earnest to prison, and they visited my 
papers, putti^ the seals all over my house. 
Without their hearing me, I ordered my maid 
to take the children as soon as I was gone 
to Madame de Jarnac, who had been de- 
sired by their mother, in case of my arrest. 


to send them to a person who had been her 

After they had made the visit of my papers, 
and ate some dinner, which I, of course, did not, 
they allowed me to take linen and everything I 
wanted, put me into a hackney-coach, and drove 
to the prison of St. Pelagic, a most deplorable, 
dirty, xmcomfortable hole. This prison had 
been used before the Eevolution as a house of 
correction. It was six o'clock when I got there- 
in the month of May. It had been a beautiful 
day, but no appearance of spring or summer 
was to be found in this sad habitation ! The 
other prisoners were, Kke myself, all in tears, 
dreading what was to happen, and fall of pity 
and kindness for me, their new companion. We 
became aU intimate friends iai a moment. There 
I saw many who I had hoped were^out of France ; 
but about eight o'dock, when they brought us 
our miserable supper, ham, eggs, and dirty 
water, whom should I see, and whovshould come 
and take me iu his arms, and burst into tears, 
but the unfortunate Due de Eicon ! I scasfcely 
ever was more affected in my life. 


In tlie prison also I found Madame Laurent, 
a friend of tlie poor Duke's. Of course the pri- 
soners were eager to hear the news, as they had 
no sort of intercourse with people out of prison. 
I could only wound them with horrible truths of 
what was going on. The next day many other 
prisoners arrived, and every day more and more. 
Many were daily taken off to the scaffold. 
I feared for poor Biron. We could have little 
conversation, for the men and women were on 
different sides in that prison ; indeed our chief 
conversation was from one window to the other 

I did not stay at St. Pelagie long. It was in 
June, I think, that I left it; but cannot be exact, 
as the months were different in France, and I 
never really knew what month it was. Poor 
Madame Du Barri came there before I left it. 
She was very unhappy. She used to sit on 
my bed for hours, telling me anecdotes of Louis 
XV. and the Court. She talked to me much of 
England and of the Prince of Wales, with 
whom she was enchanted. She regretted much 
ever having left England. She dreaded her fate. 


Indeed, she showed very little courage on the 
scaffold ; yet, I believe, had every one made as 
much resistance as she did, Eobespierre would 
not have dared to put so many to death, for 
Madame Du Barri's screams, they told me, 
frightened and alarmed the mob. She was 
very good-ijatured, and during the time I 
lived in the same prison with her I liked her 

I had been sent to St. Pelagie while the 
Comite du Salut Public was visitiag the Duke 
of Orleans' papers, and they thought that I 
should be found to have been an agent of the 
Duke's about England. They found, however, 
nothing that could induce them to suppose that 
I had any correspondence with the Duke ; iand 
I was fortunate enough to have been sent for by 
the Comite du alut Public to hear a letter 
read in English, which was found on the visit 
of the Duke's papers. They wanted to learn 
if I knew anything of the writer, who he was, 
and what it could mean ? I was much alarined 
when the guard took me from St. Pelagic to 
the Tuileries, where the Comitfe sat. How- 


ever, I found that this famous letter to 
the Duke was one from old Mr. Vernon 
about horses and bets, and Newmarket, &c., 
all of which they thought had a double 
meaning. In short, that unfortunate letter 
was once more produced at the Tribunal on the 
poor Duke's trial, and was one of the pretexts 
for condemning him to death. 

They kept me all night under examination, 
but they found that I could give them no great 
satisfaction. In the morning they sent me nome, 
and people to take the seals off my house. I 
never knew why they treated me so well at that 
moment. While I was at the Comite they re- 
ceived a letter from the Duke of Orleans to 
desire them to send him soixante mille francs, 
and I heard them say that trefnie mille was enough 
for his expenses. The members who examined 
me were Barrere, BiUaud de Varennes, Merlin de 
Douay, and Eobespierre, who asked me himself 
several questions, but he was not at the Board : 
he was going iu and out of the room. All 
this took place in the King's fine room in the 
PavUlm de Flora, where they held the Comite ; 


and the same ftirniture remained which the 
poor King had. It was in that very room 
that all the murders were signed, even, that 
of the unfortunate Queen herself. 

I went from St. Pelagie without supposing 
that I was not to return, and therefore took no 
leave of my poor friends there. My own house 
was very dreary. I never was one moment 
happy; at every noise expecting that they 
were coming to arrest me. I almost wished 
that they had left me in St. Pelagie. I had no 
friends. The only person whom I saw now 
and then was Madame de Jarnac. She, poor 
woman ! was not in hetter situation than my- 
self. I also saw Mrs. Meyler. She came to 
live in my neighbourhood. 



My Plight on being warned that I am to be arrested — 
Incidents of my Flight— Eeach Meudon— I am pursued and 
sent to the Prison of theEecollets, at Versailles— Brutality 
of the Section — A Condemned Jew — Dr. Gem imprisoned 
in the same room with me — Our miserable Food — I procure 
the discharge of Dr. Gem — Deprived of everything^— And 
pray for Death — Brutality of Gaoler — Young Samson, the 
Executioner— The Queen's Death. 

AeotfT the 6th of September I went one 
night to see Mrs. Meyler, who was ill. With 
her were two or three French ladies, and 
we supped together. I was in better spirits 
than for some time previously. About half- 
past eleven o'clock, I walked home with 
my servant. This was a late hour at that 
period in Paris. When I came into my room 
to undress, my maid looked very duU, and 
she said, " Mon Dieu ! Madame, how gay you 


look to-night ! I have not seen you look so 
gay or so well these many, many months." 

" No/' I said ; " I really feel myself more 
comfortable than I have done this long time." 

She wished, she said, that I might have 
nothing to damp my mirth; adding, "God 
forbid, that I should !" 

I said, " Then don't look so dismal. I hate 
to see you look so !" 

She asked me if I had heard anything of 
the Queen's trial ? I was sorry she talked of 
that, for it made me unhappy. At that mo- 
ment the trial of the unfortunate Queen was 
going on. I then went to bed. My maid 
wished me " good night," two or three times, 
and kissed my hands. I felt her tears on my 
hands. I soon fell asleep, and about six o'clock 
in the morning my maid came into my room, 
and said, " Madame, get up directly. There is 
no time to lose. You are to be arrested at 
nine o'clock ; and your death-warrant is signed ! 
I had this information last night from your 
grocer, who is one of the members of the Sec- 
tion, but he wishes you well, and advises yon 



to make your escape. I was to have told you 
this last night, but I had not the heart to do so ; 
you looked so happy, and I have not seen you 
so for a long time." 

I only half-dressed myself. I took my dia- 
monds, and other things which might be put 
into my pocket. I did not even wait to tie my 
petticoats on, for we did not for certain know 
when the wretches might come. I ran into the 
fields behind Monceau, but did not know where 
to go. All the morning I wandered about the 
new Boulevards, tiU I got to the Porte St. 
Denis. Then remembering that Milor, the 
mialtre-de-ballet of the Opera, and his wife, 
Bigotini, lived at the top of the Fauxbourg 
St. Denis, although I hardly knew them, I 
went there, as they were staunch royalists, 
and were known to be good people. They 
received me with kindness, pitied me, but 
could not keep me, as they expected visits 
in the night, and I should be searched for. 
They therefore thought it best for me to 
try aud get to my house at Meudon, 
when it was dark. M. Milor was good 


enough to walk with me there at ten o'clock 
at night, and to return in a cabriolet, which he 
was fortunate enough to meet with at twelve 
o'clock at night. 

I then went down with my dairy-maid to the 
village, and made the mayor get up. He was 
an honest labourer, who had a great regard for 
me, as had many others of the same class, who 
belonged to the municipality. I told the mayor 
my situation ; that I expected every hour the 
people from Paris would arrive to arrest me ; 
that of course when they could not find me 
in Paris, they would be sure to come there, I 
told him that all I feared was being taken 
to Paris ; that the people of my Section 
had always iU-used me, and accused me of being 
a royaHst ; and that I should be lost if I were 
taken again to the prisons in Paris. I entreated 
him to call up the municipality and arrest me, 
and then keep me in the castle prison of 

The mayor, who was a very sensible man, 
said that he could not assist me ; that Ver- 
sailles was the chief authority for the Seine et 

M 2 


Oise ; that I was then out of the department 
of Paris, which was that on Seiae only, and 
that my Section could not touch me there. 
He assured me that if I would go home to bed, 
they would not come; that he would get on 
his horse and ride over to the Comite Revo- 
lutionnaire at Versailles ; and that they should 
come and arrest me in the morning. 

The members of Sevres could have arrested 
me, but I dreaded them, as they were as bad 
as Paris for me, and always called me a 
royalist. I took the mayor's wife home with 
me, and she slept in the next room to me 
— at least for an hour, for we had hardly 
been longer in bed, when there came a most 
dreadful thundering and ringing at my gates. 
My gardener went and let them in. It was 
the Section from -Paris, who had been for 
that of Sevres, as Meudon was in the depart- 
ment of Seine et Oise, and they could not 
have taken me alone. They made me get up 
before them and the gensd'armes, who were 
all in my house. They searched my thiugs ; 
upbraided me for making my escape, and said, 


"Ah I ma mignon, vous nous v! Schapperez pas this 
time. Tou will make a good appearance on tlie 
Place Louis Quinze. We will all go and see you 
make your exit : it will be quite a fine sight-" 
While they were seaHng, and stealing half 
my clothes, the Comite of Versailles arrived. 
They were furious at those of Paris for having 
dared to come into their department. They also 
were very angry with those of Sevres for joining 
them without the leave of those of YersaLUes. 
Both were for having me, and I anticipated 
that they were going to fight, had not the 
gensd'armes interposed. At last they sent a 
soldier on horseback to Versailles, to one of the 
deputies of the Convention, who was at the 
head of the department of Seine et Oise, to 
know what to do. He sent a written order 
that I should be delivered up that moment to 
the Comite of Versailles, and that I should be 
taken directly to the prison there called the 
EecoUets. In short they kept me on my legs 
the whole day, and they drank and cooked 
their own dinner in my rooms, and stayed till 
nine o'clock at night. 


From five o'clock in tlie morning it had been 
and then was, a rainy, nasty day. I was pnt in 
a cart with some wet straw, and the few things 
which they allowed me to take, with two gens- 
d'axmes, four of them also following it. In this 
way we went through the woods to the Comite 
at Versailles, who sent me to the EecoUets. 

"When we got to the prison, the gaoler said 
that he had no place prepared for me, and that 
I must stay all night in the guard-room of the 
prison ; as there was a bed there, and I might 
lie down. I was wet to the skin, and iU with 
weeping aU day, and so tired that I could hardly 
hold my head up. The gaoler's wife brought 
me some warm wiue and some cold beef and 
salad. Of this I ate something, and drank the 
wine, drying myself at the fire. The guards 
who were in the room were very civU and 
good. They said that they would not smoke 
in the guard-room, but would go and sit out 
on the stairs all night ; and that I might 
safely lie down and sleep, for they would allow 
no creature to come into the room, or to insult 
me. Accordingly I lay down with my damp 


clothes on, and I slept tiU seven o'clock. I 
reaUy believe that in the whole course of my 
life I never slept so soundly, though God knows 
that I was not happy; but complete misery 
had stupefied me. 

In the morning I was taken into the prison, 
a dreary place ; however, it was better than St. 
Pelagie. Here I found no prisoners but felons. 
I was placed in a very large room, which had 
been previously to my arrival occupied by about 
three or four hundred rabbits, and was offen- 
sive and dirty. I am sure that there was room 
for at least forty beds. In one comer was a 
miserable truckle-bed, with two old chairs and 
a dirty old table, a candle and candlestick, 
dogs and fire-irons, and a fire-place where an 
ox might have been roasted at full length. 
I had indeed an immensely large fire, which 
looked comfortable. For the whole time I 
stayed in that prison, I was never refused 
fire, as they were at that time burning all 
the gates and barriers, rails, and green posts 
which were in the woods and parks roiind 


I was now examined and visited by the deputy 
who was commanding in the department of 
Seine et Oise. He was the terror of everybody 
about there ; but I was fortunate enough not 
to displease him in the conversation we had, 
and ever after I found him inclined to treat 
me better than the other prisoners. I was 
much annoyed at having in the next room to 
me a poor Jew, who was condemned to be exe- 
cuted the foUowing day, for having robbed and 
murdered a farmer at Eambouillet. He made 
a most terrible lamentation, and cried all night, 
which made me very unhappy. I talked to 
him early in the morning from my grated 
window, exhorting him to trust in Grod for 
pardon, and to suffer his punishment with 
resignation. I told him that I myself might 
soon be in a similar situation ; and that though 
I had committed no crime which merited death, 
yet I should not complain as he was doing. 
They brought the cart for him at eleven 
o'clock in the morning, and he confessed the 
crimes, and died very penitently. 

This event, and my own cruel situation. 


brought me into so nervous a state the whole 
day, that I knew nobody, nor did I even swallow 
a bit of bread, though I understood that as I 
had money in my pocket I might have any- 
thing I pleased to eat or drink. . About eight 
o'clock in the evening, as I was sitting crying 
by my fire, the gaoler and his wife came into 
the room with a bed Hke mine. They were 
kind to me, and said that they were happy to 
tell me that I was goiag to have a companion. 
I asked, who ? They said, a very old man, and 
that he was Enghsh. I was hurt at the idea 
of having a male companion. 

However, when the poor prisoner came in, I 
found that it was old Dr. Gem, an English 
physician, who had been forty years in France, 
and who was eighty years of age. I was indeed 
much hurt to see a man of his great age enter- 
ing such a wretched place. He was himself 
much shocked and surprised to see me there, as 
he had heard that my fate was soon to be 
decided. He knew that he ran no risk of being 
murdered ; for he was a philosopher, and I am 
sorry to say an atheist. He seemed to want 


irnich to talk of these subjects to me ; but I 
used to entreat hita to leave me in what he 
called ignorance; for religion was my only 
comfort in aU the trying, miserable scenes I 
went through-. That alone supported me to 
the last, while he, poor man, was in despair 
at being shut out from the world and every 
comfort. I used to try and divert him, and 
make him laugh. He then would burst out 
into tears, and say, " You seem contented 
and happy, when you may probably in a 
few days be dying on the scaffold ; while I, a 
miserable old man, am regretting a few paltry 
comforts." I used to make his bed and clean 
his part of the room, wash his face and hands, 
and mend his stockings; in short, do every 
ofl&ce for him which his great age and weak- 
ness prevented him doing himself. 

At that period we were allowed candles till 
ten o'clock, at which time the prison was shut 
up. My old friend used to go to bed at seven 
o'clock, but I remained up till ten o'clock at 
work. He used to get up at four o'clock and 
uncover the wood fire, and light a candle and 


read Locke and Helvetius till seven o'clock. 
Then he would come to my bedside, and awake 
me, and many a time, has he woke me out of a 
pleasant dream of being in England, and with 
my friends, to find myself in a dreary prison 
expecting my death-warrant every time the door 

My old friend frightened me sometimes, as I 
feared that he might die in the night, and the 
gaoler lived at the end of the court. Besides, 
we were barred into our rooms with the felons' 
next to us. When Battelier, that was the name 
of the deputy, came, I asked to have an audience 
of him. I told him before all the Comite of 
Versailles, who were there, that this poor old 
man might die suddenly, and asked that he 
might be transferred to some other prison, 
for that I had not strength enough to support 
so tall a man when he was in his fainting fits. 
I said, moreover, that it was cruel to leave 
me alone mth him; and that they should 
allow his old housekeeper to come there and 
take care of him. As he was a Eepublican, 
I said, I could not conceive why they should 


not let him remain in his own house with a 
guaxd, whom he had no objection to pay. 

The deputy said that he thought as I did ; 
and that he should leave the prison the next 
day, and be confined at his house at Meudon. 
I never felt more pleasure than in having this 
good news to teU my old friend. After the 
audience I was conducted up to my own room, 
where I found the poor doctor in bed fast 
asleep. For a while I sat and watched him. 
He awoke about ten o'clock, and I then told 
him the good news. He was delighted to go 
home, but he really felt unhappy about me. 
I had procured him his liberty, but mine 
was only to be obtained on the scaffold ! 
He wept much, and so did I at parting. 
He never expected to see me again; but, 
however, we did both Hve to meet again, and 
I saw him the day before he died. He had 
from the commencement of his imprisonment 
a great regard and affection for me ; and 
when I came out of prison used to walk a mile 
to see me every day. This old gentleman, who 
was weU known in the literary world by, I 


believe, some writings, was grand-uncle to Mr. 
Huskisson, Under-Secretary of State. 

Once more I -yras alone, but only for a very 
short period. The Terror gained ground so fast, 
that the prison was soon filled with unfortunate 
royalists, and we were then deprived of every 
comfort. The little money which we had was 
taken from us, and our silver spoon and fork ; 
though, strange to say, I got mine back again 
two years afterwards, for when the gaolers took 
them from us they gave us a number," and told 
us that our things were sent with that number 
to the Hotel de Ville. 

"When I got out of prison I was one day 
looking over some papers, and found my num- 
ber, which was 79. My maid offered to go 
to the Hotel de ViUe with it, and see what 
they would say to her. On delivering in my 
number they gave her my spoon and fork out 
of many others, together with the money, 
thimble, scissors, knives, and other articles ; at 
which we were much surprised. 

We were now deprived, in short, of every 
comfort, for we were henceforth fed by 


the nation. The gaoler was allowed about 
eight pence English a day for our food, 
and Grod knows he did not spend six 
pence. We had for constant food boiled 
haricots, sometimes hot and sometimes cold; 
when hot they were dressed with rancid 
butter, when cold with common oil ; we had 
also bad eggs dressed in different ways. A 
favourite thing was raw pickled herrings, 
of which they gave us quantities, as the 
Dutch had sent great quantities of them to 
Paris to pay part of a debt which they owed 
to the EepubHc. Sometimes we had what 
was called soup and bouilH, but we were 
always sick after eating it. Some of the 
prisoners thought that it was human flesh 
which was given us ; but I reaUy think that 
it was horses' or asses' flesh, or dead cows. 
In short, the poorest beggars in England 
would not eat the things which we were forced 
to do. Our* bread was made of barley, and 
very dirty, and used to make our throats sore. 
At that time I had a very dangerous sore 
throat, and was not able to swallow the least 


thing for three days. I had no gargles, no 
softening things, or even a drop of clean 
water to cool my mouth, though I was in a 
raging fever. No creature who had not been 
in such a situation can imagine what I suffered. 
I prayed fervently for death. Though I was in 
a miserable dirty truckle-bed, yet I thought 
that anything was better than perishing by the 
hands of the executioner, and being made a show 
for the horrid crowds which followed the poor 
victims to the scaffold. However, without care 
or comfort I was miserable in finding that my 
throat got better, and at last I was restored to 
perfect health. While I was lU. my "unfortunate 
female companions were all kindness to me; 
they even deprived themselves of the little 
water they could spare for my use. 

Common misfortune had made us sincere, 
even romantic friends, and we were always ready 
to die for one another. The gaoler used to fiU 
for us in the morning a wine-bottle full of dirty 
water, and each prisoner had his own. That 
was to serve for the whole day, for the gaolers 
would not have been at the trouble to fill 


them twice. Sometimes we used to get a drop 
of brandy from the turnkeys, who had always a 
great leather bottle in their pocket, and used to 
offer us a drop out of it. However nasty, I 
found it of great use to me, as I always washed 
my mouth with it, and was one of the only 
prisoners who had not tooth-ache, and who 
indeed did not lose their teeth, from the damp- 
ness of the rooms, which were very large. The 
gaoler who was in that prison when I first 
went there had been dismissed, and one of the 
Septembrists was now put in his place. From 
that period our Hfe was a scene of agony. 
Once or twice I asked the gaoler for a little 
warm water to wash myself. This he told me 
would be nonsense ; for nothing could save 
me from the executioner's hands, and as they 
were dirty, it was no use to clean myself. 

I was much shocked one day on going into 
the gaoler's room, where we used sometimes to 
go when we wanted anything. He was sitting 
at a table with a very handsome, smart young 
man, drinking wine. The gaoler told me 
to sit down, and drink a glass too. I did 


not dare to refuse. The young man then said, 
" Well, I must be off," and looked at his watch. 
The gaoler replied, " No ; your work will not 
begin till twelve o'clock." I looked at the man, 
and the gaoler said to me, " You must make 
friends with this citizen ; it is young Samson, 
the executioner, and perhaps it may fall to his 
lot to behead you." I felt quite sick, especially 
when he took hold of my throat saying, '• It will 
soon be off your neck, it is so long and small. 
If I am to despatch you, it will be nothing 
but a squeeze." He was going at that moment 
to execute a poor Vendean prisoner in the 
market-place of Versailles. We had many pri- 
soners taken from our prison to Paris to be 
tried by the Tribunal Revolutionnaire, who 
were all executed. I was in hopes that I 
should have remained long at Versailles. 

About the 26th of October the news of the 
poor Queen's execution reached us. Nothing 
now surprised us ; for we had then been used 
to nothing but horrors. We heard of the 
Queen's greatness and courage with admiration, 
and we all determined to try and imitate so 



great and good an example. All envied her 
her fate ; as indeed we did that of every victim 
when their execution was over ; but there was 
something dreadful in being dragged through a 
rabble to a scaffold. 



Death of the Duke of Orleans— Melancholy feelings on the 
Event— Nothing found among his Papers concerning me— 
Crasseau the Deputy— His Brutality to me— Imprisoned 
m the Queen's Stables— The Prisoners irom Nantes— Con- 
veyed to Paris -Insulted by the way— General Hoche— 
Madame Beauharnais— Madame Custine — The Marquis de 
Beauharnais is sent to the same Prison — Affecting parting 
between the Count de Custine and his "Wife — The Eeign of 
Terror — Santerre— I am released. 

On the 5th of JiTovember I heard of the fate 
of the unfortunate Duke of Orleans. It is 
needless to say what I felt on that occasion. 
I was not aware that he had been removed from. 
Marseilles to Paris till I heard of his death. 
I know that he died with great courage. He 
was tried, condemned, and executed in the 
space of two hours ! A man-servant of mine 
by accident met the cart in which he was, 
in the Eue du Eoule, near the Pont Neuf He 

N 2 


knew that there were condemned people in it, 
but he was shocked to death when he saw the 
Duke of Orleans in it. My poor servant was 
nearly fainting, but was determined to follow 
the Duke to the scaffold. There was very little 
mob the whole way, though by the time they 
got to the Palais EoyaJ, the Duke's own palace, 
people began to assemble. Till that moment 
no creature had even an idea of the Duke's 
having been tried. Under his own windows 
they stopped him for ten minutes. He looked, 
my servant since told me, very grave, and as 
he did in former days when he was going out 
on any occasion of ceremony. He was very 
much powdered, and looked very well. His 
hands were tied behind him, and his coat 
thrown over his shoulders. His coat was light 
grey, with a black collar. When the cart moved 
from the Palais Eoyal, the Duke looked at the 
mob with a sort of indignation. He did not 
alter in any way, but carried his head very 
high tiU the cart turned on the Place Louis 
Quinze ; then he saw the scaffold before him ; 
and my man said that he turned very pale, but 


still held up his head. Three other prisoners 
were with him in the cart — a Madame de KoUy, 
a very beautiful woman, wife to a farmer- 
general, a man of the name of Coustard, a 
deputy of the Convention but of the Gironde 
party, and a blacksmith of the name of Brouce, 
for having made a key to save some papers. 
It was nearly four o'clock when the cart got 
to the scaffold, and it was almost dark. There- 
fore, in order that the mob might see the Duke's 
head, he was the first who was executed. He 
leaped up the ladder with great haste, looked 
round at everybody, helped the executioner to 
undo his neckcloth, and did not speak one 
word or make the least resistance. They 
afterwards held up his head to the mob. 

Thus ended the life of a man who wiU never 
be forgotten, and whose last crime will cause 
his name ever to be remembered with horror ! 
I dare hardly say that he had many amiable 
qualities, and that his horrible fate was brought 
about by a set of ambitious men. As I have 
previously observed, they left him in the hands 
of men still worse than themselves. Unfortu- 


nately tlie Court never allowed him a chance 
of getting out of their hands. I could say 
much on this subject; but I should not be 
believed, and the subject always makes me 

In the beginning of December, the poor Due 
de Biron suffered death, nearly a month after 
the Duke of Orleans had been executed. I 
heard that he was much affected at his own 
situation, and showed some weakness in his last 

When the seals were taken off the Duke of 
Orleans' papers, which was soon after his 
death, I was closely confined in a dungeon, 
without even being allowed to converse with 
the other prisoners. I was very uneasy, fearing 
that the letter which I had written to the 
Duke after the King's death might have been 
found, and that alone would have condemned 
me. However, nothing of mine was found, and 
after three weeks' close confinement, and Hving 
with rats and mice, I was allowed to mix with 
the other prisoners. At that time a new 
deputy named Crasseau came to be at the head 


ol the department of Versailles. He was a 
greai friend of Eobespierre's, and had great 
powers. He came to visit onr prison, and said 
that I seemed to have too much luxe, and 
that I was very much perfumed, and therefore 
was sure that I was a royalist. I said, " I 
certainly was, or I should not now be in 
prison." He said, if I was " I should go and 
join my friends in the Cimetiere de la Mag- 
dalene — ^that was the only place for royalists." 
I told him that I often wished myseK there, 
or anywhere to be out of my misery. He said 
that he "should take care that my wishes 
should be soon accomplished ;" adding that " it 
was indeed neglect in the other deputy not to 
have sent me up to the Tribunal Revolu- 
tionnaire before, but that he would have justice 
done, since I owned myself a royalist." I 
said, " Why, I am sure you never could doubt 
that, else I should not have been so cruelly 
used. I suppose you don't imprison the re- 
publicans. I am certain that if I had been 
ever so good a republican, I should have hated 
the Eepublic and have wished its destruction 


a thousand times, for all the misery I had 
suffered." On this he became furious. He said 
that " I should go to Paris, and that I deserved 
he should send me there that instant ; that my 
name was noted at the Comite de Salut Pub- 
lic; and that I should soon be brought to 
the guillotine, for I had been one of the agents 
of D'Orleans for England, and wanted either 
to have made an English prince king of France, 
or D'Orleans. He added that he knew " I had 
had correspondence with the Prince of Wales ; 
and that I was only fit to be food for the 
mouth of a cannon." 

In short, three weeks after this I was once 
more removed from this prison, to my great 
grief and consternation; and taken at nine 
o'clock at night, just as I was going to bed, to 
the late Queen's stables, where many of the 
poor people of Nantes had just arrived on 
their road to Paris to be tried. They were in 
a most miserable plight, having been marched 
on foot from Nantes, many of them very ill ; 
some dying on the road, it is supposed of the 
gaol distemper. This, however, I doubt, as I 


slept on the same straw with them all night 
in the stables, and though they were full of 
vermin I got nothing dirty from them. This 
I impute to a sweet-scented sachet I always 
carried in my corset, which caused that monster 
Crasseau to say that I was covered with luxury. 

The day after I left the EecoUets for the 
Queen's stables, a cart covered over at the top 
like a waggon, with large iron bars at the 
end, was brought into the stable-yard. It was 
fiUed with straw, and we were put in, as many 
as it would hold. I understood that other 
carts arrived afterwards for the other prisoners, 
who were in all above forty, though I was 
the only prisoner from Versailles. Every one 
of them was taken to the Conciergerie but 
myself. I was taken to the Grue of Plessis, a 
terrible prison ; but there was no room for me 
in it. On the next day therefore I was sent 
to the Oarmes in the Eue de Vaugirard, a 
prison notorious for the horrid murders com- 
mitted there on the poor old priests and the 
respectable and good Bishop of Arras. 

I ought to mention that on our road from 


Yersailles to Paris, the populace of Sevres pelted 
us through the bars of our waggon with mud, 
dead cats, and old shoes. They were very vio- 
lent, and called us dogs and aristocrats. In 
short we met with iU-usage all the way. I 
regretted having left the EecoUets ; there at 
least the air was better than in Paris, and many 
good, respectable people were there, such as 
poor farmers and old labourers, who cotJd 
not make up their minds to the Republic, 
and who had in their own villages ex- 
pressed too freely their abhorrence of the 
new system. Many of these truly good and 
pious people were executed. There were some 
nobles in the prison also, but few of note. 
When I got to the Carmes I was very unwell 
and tired, very dirty and uncomfortable. At 
the greffier-room of the prison I found General 
Hoche, who had just been sent there. I had 
not known him before, nor had I ever till then 
sat down in a room with any republican officer, 
and I think that had I been at liberty nothing 
earthly could have made me make such an 
acquaintance. He, however, was very kind 


aad civil to me. He had long, he said, known 
me by sight, and was sorry to make himself 
known to me in such a place. 

I said, " General, if you know me, you can- 
not be surprised to see me here ; but I assure 
you that I am much surprised to see you here, 
for I thought you one of the defenders of the 
Eevolution." " So I am," said he, " but they 
seem to forget and oppress their real friends ; 
however I hope that I shall not stay here long. 
I have been cruelly slandered." He asked me, 
who was in the prison? which I did not know, 
as the greffier had not done writing for at least 
two hours. They brought Hoche and me some 
dinner, very nasty. On account of our dismal 
situation we became afterwards very good 
friends. When we entered the prison, Hoche 
and I found many people whom we knew, and 
many great ladies, who aU seemed to know 
him, such as the Duchess D'Aiguillon, Ma- 
dame Lamotte, Madame Beauharnais, now 
Madame Bonaparte, Madame de Custine, and 
her husband, who was beheaded three days 
after I went into the Carmes, I knew there 


also Madame de Jarnac, my friend Mrs. Mey- 
ler, and Madame de D'Araij. Before we went 
to bed, we were all as good friends as if we had 
been brought up together. Indeed, at every 
instant we all equally expected our death- 
warrant. They were delightful women, and 
bore their misfortunes with courage and good 

Most of the prisoners, like myself, had little 
reason to hope they would leave the walls of the 
Carmes, but for the scaffold ; yet in spite of this 
horrid prospect, I must own that I passed many 
pleasant moments with those very agreeable 
women, who were all fall of talent, none more 
so than Madame Beauharnais, now Madame 
Bonaparte. She is one of the most accom- 
plished, good-humoured women I ever met with. 
The only little disputes we had when together 
were politics, she being what was called at the 
beginning of the Eevolution constitutional, but 
she was not in the least a Jacobin, for nobody 
suffered more by the Eeign of Terror and by 
Robespierre than she did. 
When I first went into the Carmes I 


slept in a room where we were eighteen 
in number, and Madame Bonaparte, Madame 
de Oustine and I had our beds close together, 
and we have often made our beds, and washed 
the room, for the other prisoners did not take 
much pains about it. Two old Frenchmen and 
their wives slept in our room : they were nobles, 
and virtuous, pious people. I ought to say that 
in none of the prisons unmarried men were al- 
lowed to sleep on the same side of the house 
with the women. Some who had their rela- 
tions on the women's side, were permitted to 
come to us for an hour or two. 

Madame Beauharnais had been parted for 
some years from her husband, the Marquis 
Alexandre Beauharnais. We were therefore 
much surprised one day to see him come into 
our room, as a prisoner. His wife and he were 
both much embarrassed at the circumstance, 
but in a few hours they were perfectly recon- 
ciled. A smaU closet with two beds, was 
granted to them, where they slept together. 
The day of Beauharnais's entrance into the 
prison was a sad day for that beautiful httle 


creature Madame de Custine ; for on that day 
her husband, a very handsome young man and 
son to General Comte de Custine, was taken 
out of our prison, tried, and beheaded the next 

I never saw a scene of more misery than the 
parting between this young couple. I really 
thought that she would have dashed her brains 
out. Madame Beauharnais and I did not leave 
her for three days and nights. However, she 
was young, full of spirits, and a Frenchwoman, 
and at the end of six weeks she got into better 
spirits ; so much so, indeed, that poor Madame 
Beauharnais, who really seemed to be attached 
to her husband, became very unhappy. I was 
her confidante, and did everything in my power 
to persuade Beauharnais to spare his wife's feel- 
ings, who had entertained a sincere friendship 
for Madame de Custine before this event. I am 
far from supposing that any improper connec- 
tion was formed; but certainly Beauharnais 
was more in love than it is possible to describe ; 
and the little woman seemed to have no objec- 
tion to his attentions. 


But, alas ! this did not last long ; for the 
Convention imagined, or pretended to imagine, 
that there was a conspiracy in our prison. We 
were all denounced byBarrere ; and they asserted 
that we had laid a plan to set fire to the prison. 
In^hort, so cruel yet absurd was the accusation, 
that when the Comite du Salut Public sent 
for fifty prisoners out of our number to be tried 
for the conspiracy, the gaoler, who was a horrid 
Jacobin, laughed at the soldiers, and said, " A 
conspiracy ! why the prisoners here are all as 
quiet as lambs." However, fifty were led out 
of our prison to the scaffold for that same con- 
spiracy. Amongst the number, who were all 
men, was poor Beauharnais ; the Chevalier de 
Chansenets, brother to him whose life I saved ; 
the young Dute de Charost; the Prince of 
Salms ; a General Ward, an Irishman in the 
Trench service, and his servant ; and a young 
EngHshman of the name of Harrop, who had 
been sent to the Irish college for his education, 
and whose parents had never sent for him home. 
He had been imprudent, and had abused the 
Eepublicin some coffee-house, in consequence of 


wHcli he was arrested. He was only eighteen 
years old: Two other young men, in going 
down the prison-stairs, which were formed like 
a well, took hold of each other's hands, and 
leaped down. They were dashed to pieces ; but 
as the number was to be fifty, they took two 
other people to make up the number. 

I never saw such a scene as the parting of 
Beauharnais, his wife, and Madame de Custine. 
I myself was much affected at poor Beau- 
harnais' fate, for I had known him many years. 
He was a great friend of the poor Due de 
Biron, and I had - passed weeks in the same 
house with him. He was a very pleasant man, 
though rather a coxcomb. He had much 
talent ; and his drawings were beautiful. He 
took a very good likeness of me, which he 
gave poor little Custine when he left us. 
His poor wife was inconsolable for some time ; 
but she was a Frenchwoman, and he had 
not been very attentive to her. The other 
lady I never saw smile after his death. 

The whole fifty were executed the next day. 
They came into our ward to take leave of us. 


I knew several of them, and poor Chansenets 
showed great courage, more than his poor 
brother did with me. I took leave of the Prince 
de Salms, but I did not pity him much ; he had 
almost been a Jacobin. The Due de Charost 
was a sort of madman ; he was a descendant of 
the great Sully, and had married Mademoiselle 
de Sully, who was immensely rich. Hoche, who 
was at this period very closely confined in a 
dungeon, we never saw ; but they allowed him at 
last to mix with the other prisoners, and he was 
then a great deal on our side. He was a very 
handsome young man, with a very military ap- 
pearance, very good-humoured, and very gallant. 
His father had been body-coachman to Louis 
the Sixteenth, and he himself was brought up 
from an infant in the depot of the French 
Guards. I believe that he was an excellent 
ofiEcer, at least I have heard Pichegru say so. 
Hoche was Hberated before the death of 
Eobespierre, and a command was given 
bim. At the time he left the prison we 
had Httle hopes of escaping from the guil- 
lotine. Every day prisoners went from our 


prison to that fatal end, and we were almost 
in despair. 

A poor man and his wife, who used to 
keep a stall for puppets in the Champs Elysees, 
were brought to our prison for having shown a 
figure of Charlotte Corday, which was hand- 
some. These poor people were honest, good 
creatures, and though we could do them no 
good, yet they used to render us every service 
in their power. We were in hopes, as 
they were poor, that they would have 
escaped ; but, alas ! they were dragged also to 
the terrible scafibld, and we all wept their loss 
sincerely. In short, the scenes became so 
dreadful, that it was impossible to exist much 
longer in such a state of constant woe, to see 
husbands forced from their wives' arms, children 
torn from their mothers, their screams and fits, 
people when they could get a knife even cutting 
their own throats ! Such were the horrors 
going on in the Carmes, and we expecting, and 
indeed being told, that every day might be our 
last. This was what I believe we all wished, 
yet the idea of the means was dreadful. 


But even in all these moments of distress 
my healtli was perfect; and God Almighty 
never forsook me, as I bore my misfortunes with 
cahnness and resignation. I found all my 
comfort in religion. We hardly knew anything 
from out of doors, and were often in fear of the 
mob breaking into the prison, and renewing the 
scenes of September — scenes which we could 
not forget, for the walls of our refectory, and 
even the wooden chairs, were still stained with 
the blood and brains of the venerable old priests 
who had been murdered there on that horrible 

I forgot to mention that Greneral Santerre 
— the same who had conducted the imfortunate 
King to the scaffold, and who had ordered the 
drums to be beat that his august voice might 
not be heard by the people — ^was also a prisoner 
in the Carmes. He never could hve in friend- 
ship with me, though he was always attentive. 
Many of our great ladies were very intimate 
with him, and thought him a good-natured,, 
harmless man. He assured us all, when we 
used to abuse him about his conduct on the 



21st of January, that he had orders if the King 
spoke to have all the cannons fired at him, and 
that it was to avoid that measure he had acted 
as he did. He always swore that he regretted 
the King's death. This, however, I never 
believed. He was liberated before the death of 
Eobespierre, owing, I beheve, to his ^ving our 
gaoler good beer, for he was a brewer. He 
used to send us little trifles for our comfort, 
and I will say that he never lost an opportunity 
of serving us. When he was at liberty he sent 
me a pound of the finest green tea I ever drank, 
and some sugar. He also sent us a pie ; but the 
gaoler liked that too well to give us any of it. 

I was very ungrateful to Santerre, as I never 
saw him but once after I left the prison, and 
that was in coming out of the Opera. I was 
ashamed to be seen speaking to him, though 
he lived a good deal with some of the ladies 
who had been in prison, and whom he really 
had served, in getting them their liberty after 
the death of Eobespierre sooner than they 
otherwise would have done. 

He said that he had never spoken to the 


Duke of Orleans in his life till after the King's 
death. This I readily believe, for the Duke 
had often declared to me that he never had 
spoken to Santerre, though he always passed 
for one of his chief agents. 

[Here the manuscript terminates.] 

After an imprisonment of full eighteen 
months in various places, Mrs. EUiott was 
again restored to liberty. She had been 
fed during her incarceration upon pickled 
herrings, at the rate of twopence a-day, with 
one bottle of water for aU purposes. Her 
captivity was shared, latterly, with Madame 
Beauharnais, afterwards Madame Bonaparte, 
and also with a notable person, Madame De 
Pontenaye, subsequently Madame TaUien. All 
three, indeed, very narrowly escaped destruc- 
tion-, for they were ordered for execution, and 
their locks shorn, on the very day that France 
was dehvered by Providence from the monster 
Eobespierre. On emerging from prison she 
immediately sent for a broker, and disposed 
of such an amount of her property as enabled 


her to pay and discharge her establishment of 
servants, sold her house in Paris to Greneral 
Murat* (afterwards King of Naples), and 
took a cottage at Meudon. Here she lived, 
subsisting on her remaining property, and 
mixing in the higher circles in Paris during 
the Consulate and Empire. 

By the law of France, after the Revolution, 
it became necessary for all resident foreigners 
to adopt a native of the country, to inherit 
their property. Mrs. Elliott, accordingly, se- 
lected the daughter of an English groom in 
the stables of the Duke of Orleans. This 
young person, who was educated by her, had a 
remarkable talent for music ; and inherited 
whatever property Mrs. Elliott possessed at 
her death. 

Of the great man who filled the world with 
the fame of his conquests, Mrs. Dahymple 
Elliott used to relate many anecdotes of 
the period' when he was comparatively little 
known. She had even received an ofier of 

* It was afterwards sold to General Lannes, Due de 


marriage from Hm, which, however, she 

On returning to Paris, one day, and paying 
a visit to Madame Beauharnais, she found her 
under the hands of the hair-dresser. On the 
sofa lay a magnificent blue and silver dress. 
On observing it, Mrs. Elliott, in admiration, 
exclaimed : " How very charming ! And 
where may you be going in this splendid 
attire, dear?" 

" Oh, stay a few moments," replied Madame 
Beauharnais, who spoke tolerably good English, 
" tm the hair-dresser is gone, and I wiU teU 
you aU about it. Look at that dress: it is 
from your country." She then related to Mrs. 
EUiott that she had been married that morning 
to Grfeneral Bonaparte, at the Municipality, and 
that he had obtained the command of the 
army of Italy. She had no affection for him, 
she said, but Barras had recommended her to 
accept him. " How could you marry a man 
with such a horrid name ?" said Mrs. Elliott. 
" "Why, I thought," replied Madame Beauhar- 
nais, "that he might be of service to my 


cliildren. I am going to dine at the Directory 
by-and-by, and shall go a part of the way with 

Mrs. Elliott saw no more of her until after 
Bonaparte became First Consul, when she 
went to the Tuileries. The First Consul, it 
is known, was fond of children. On this 
occasion Madame Bonaparte drew his atten- 
tion to some beautiful children who were walk- 
ing in the gardens of the Tuileries. He 
inquired " who they were ?" " They are the 
children of an English gentleman, Mr. Clarke," 
was the reply. 

" English !" he exclaimed with bitterness. 
"I wish the earth would open and swallow 
them up." 

"Well, G-eneral," remarked Mrs. Elliott, 
" that is not very gallant to me." 

"Oh!" replied Bonaparte, "I don't con- 
sider you to be EngHsh— you are a Scotch- 

" Ah !" she rejoined, " I am prouder of being 
an Englishwoman than of anything." 

Bonaparte could not bear to see women with 


uncovered shoulders, which was the fashion in 
Paris at that time. "Make a huge fire," he 
would say, " I am sure the ladies will perish 
Tvith cold." 

After the conquest of Italy, Barras, who 
hecame acquaiuted with the iudiscreet conduct 
of Madame Bonaparte in her husband's absence, 
strongly urged her to leave Paris immediately 
and join him, assuring her that Madame Letitia, 
' the General's mother, (who highly disapproved 
of the marriage of the First Consul with 
Madame Beauhamais,) had set out to inform 
Bonaparte of her intrigue with a young officer. 
She iastantly adopted his advice, and fortu- 
nately for her, arrived before the General's 
mother reached the camp, whose story was thus 
anticipated and discredited. 

At the period of the signing the Treaty of 
Peace at Amiens, ia 1801, Lord Malmesbury, 
the British Plenipotentiary, met Mrs. Elliott 
in society, and recommended her to return to 
England with him. Of this opportunity she 
availed herself, travelling under the assumed 
name of Madame St. Maur. For a short time 



she resided at Brompton, at the house of a Mrs. 
iNajlor, where lodgings had been procured for 
her, by her direction, by her maid, Madame 
La Eue. It was during her residence here, 
that, one day when she was out shopping with 
Mrs. J^aylor, her attention was drawn to a 
post-chaise and four by a gentleman thrusting 
out his head and regarding her with fixed 
attention. She soon recognised in the travefler 
the Hon. Charles Wyndham, brother of Lord 
Egremont. It afterwards appeared that he 
was travelling to Brighton to join a party, at 
which the Prince of Wales was to be present, 
at the Pavilion, then the mansion of the Earl, 
and subsequently the property of the Prince. 
On his arrival, when the party was assembled, 
he piqued their curiosity as to the person he 
had encountered on his way, a lady whom 
they aU knew, and for whom, as we have 
seen, the Prince entertained the warmest re- 
gard— "Who do you think the lady was?" 
said he. Having raised their curiosity to the 
highest pitch, at length he said, " One from 
the grave— Mrs. EIHott, even more beautiful 



thaa ever." The Prince was so delighted at 
the intelligence, that he returned that very 
night to town, and sent her a most affectionate 
letter, begging her to go to him. Accord- 
ingly, dressed in the simplest manner, she 
went to Carlton House, and was received with 
great warmth by the Prince ; and their old 
friendship was renewed. 

Mrs. EUiott remained in England until 
1814, when the Bourbon family was restored 
to the throne of Prance. During the whole 
period of her residence here, from 1801 to 
1814, the lady who has kindly contributed 
much of the information here collected resided 
with her, and she also accompanied her to 
Paris, and remained with her ten weeks. The 
cruelties and privations which Mrs. EUiott 
had endured during her iniquitous confinement 
produced a most injurious and lasting effect 
on her constitution. She was long an invalid, 
and for six months was tenderly nursed by the 
lady here alluded to. 

Mrs. EUiott returned to Paris at the same 
time as the Eoyal Family of France, to whom 


restoration was accompanied with very pain- 
ful reminiscences. It was with bitter feeling 
and tears that the poor Duchesse d'Angouleme 
regarded this event : hers indeed had been a 
life of poignant grief and troubles ! The Due 
de Bourbon was also most unhappy on the 
occasion. In England he said he had lived 
tranquilly, and was loth to leave it. "What 
do I go to France for," he said, " but to meet 
the murderers of my son ?" 

Mrs. Elliott had the satisfaction of seeing 
the Marquis de Chansenets (whose life she had 
saved at so great risk to her own) reinstated as 
Governor of the Tuileries. 

We have referred to her exquisite beauty. 
Mrs. EUiott's daughter. Lady Charles Ben- 
tinck, who was always very affectionate to her, 
used to say, that on looking round on the 
brilliant assemblage of lovely women to be 
found in the Opera House of London, she saw 
no one comparable to her mother for beauty 
and elegance of manners. 

The late Duke of Cambridge, on one oc- 
casion, passing along the Edgeware Eoad, 

SirJis/uuiJisiniiildsf/mx: J.Bravm, sa. 



observed the panel of a carriage on which the 
royal arms were quartered, and inquired into 
the circumstance. He afterwards went to 
Carlton House and mentioned what he had 
learnt ; on which the Prince sent an intima- 
tion that the quartering of the royal arms 
would not be permitted, there being no 
precedent for it since the days of the merry 
monarch, Charles II. 

The chequered life of this greatly-admired 
and lovely woman quietly terminated at ViUe 
d'Avray, She had witnessed with most in- 
tense grief the overthrow of the French mo- 
narchy, and the cruel murder of Louis the 
Sixteenth, but fortunately did not survive (it is 
beheved) to see the fresh troubles of France 
in 1830, which finally, terminated in the ex- 
pulsion of the elder branch of the Bourbon 

Thus ended the life of this remarkable 
woman ; at one time cherished by the Princes 
and nobles of the land — at another, the miser- 
able companion of nobles and peasants, re- 
duced to one common level of wretchedness, 


expecting one moment to be led away to the 
scaffold, amidst the yeUs of an infuriated and 
brutal mob, and at another to perish from 
starvation and neglect. 




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December, 1858. 




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given up to murder, pillage, and the wildest confusion ; and it was finished on my 
return to England, sick and wounded, the result of an action with the mutineers." — 
Extract from. Author's Preface. 


History of the Art of War. 

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Sto, 28s. 

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* Since brought down to the Battle of Navarino. 

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Letters and Works of PMUp Dormer Stanhope^ 

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The Great Dm/ of Atonement ; 

or, Meditations and Prayers on the last Twenty-four Hours of the 
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Dictionary of Christian Ghmches and Sects, 

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bravely undertaken and well sustained j but for its use aa a stimulator to healthy 
exertion in a somewhat languid age, and as a companion-guide to those who may 
follow in the writer's footsteps. The form of the new edition is handy, and more 
fitted for a pocket companion than the original edition, with sketch-maps that save 
the trouble of reference. There is also additional matter, including a new chapter 
on the ascent of Mont Blanc." — Spectator. 


Mental Culture 

Eequiredfor Christian Ministers. By Richard Whatelt, Arch- 
bishop of Dublin. Svo, Is. 


Selections from Writings ofBdchard Whately, 

Archbishop of Dublin. Ecap. Svo, 5^,, or bound in calf, 85. Gd. 

''This volume contains the pith, the cream, the choice bits of Archbishop Whately'a 
writings. One bf his great charms is hia style, as clear as that of Cobbett and Paley." 



Six Months in British* Burmah ; 

■ or, Incia beyond the Ganges in 1857-58. By Cheistopheb 
WiNTEB. Post 8vo, with Illuatrations, 10». 6(i. 

" Instead of a diffuse narrative, Mr. Winter lias compreesed hia notes of a six 
months' residence in Britisli Surmall into a manual form. His personal adven- 
tures occupy comparatively few pages, followed by a series of chapters on the admi- 
nistration, inhabitants, birds, beasts, reptiles, products, climate, language, religion, 
and history of the province. The volume has its characteristic merit, as being a 
neat and comprehensive description of a very interesting countiy not yet exhausted 
by the enthusiasm of travellers," — AtlientEum. 


Latin and English JDictionary. 

A New Bhraseological English-Latin and Latin-English Dictionary 
By C; D. YONGE. 

Part I. English-Latin, Qs. Gd. 
Part II. Latin-English, 7s. 6d. 

Or the whole work complete in One Volume, strongly bound in 
roan, 15*. 

It was suggested to Mr, Youge, some years ago, to undertake this 
work. It has been submitted to the most eminent scholars and masters 
of schools in the kingdom (Dr. Qoodford, Head Master of Eton ; Dr. 
Moberly, of Winchester ; Dr. Vaughan, of Harrow ; Dr. Goulbum, of 
^V^g^y i aid Dr^ Jelf, of King's College, London), who all agree that a 
carefuijexamination of Mr. Yonge's Dictionary has convinced them that 
it would fully supply the want so greatly felt. 

They hare, in consequence, authorized the book to be described as 
pubUshed "For the use of Eton, Winchester, Harrow, and Rugby 
Schools, and King's College, London," and ordered that it shall be, for 
. the future, the only English-Latin dictionary used in those, the prin- 
cipal places of education in the kingdom. 

"A very capital book, either for the somewhat advanced pupil, the student who 
aims at acquiring an idiomatic Latin style, or the adult with a knowledge of the lan- 
guage. It is the best— we were going to say the onlyreally useful— Anglo-Latin Dic- 
tionary we ever met with." — Spectator.